To all my #girlfriends

Before we are #women, wives, daughters, #mothers, daughters-in-law, employees and a hundred other designations, we are simply human beings. Sometimes, in a race to fulfil these roles, we forget to be with ourselves. We forget what it is like to be a human being without a designation. 

We are always racing to fulfil some responsibility. Men of course have their own set of mammoth responsibilities. But there is one small difference. A woman never gets a break, especially mothers. It’s a role we are happy with but it’s a role that takes a lot. 

Sometimes, there is an input-output imbalance. Sometimes, we have to make do with that imbalance, but sometimes there are miraculous opportunities wherein nine girlfriends somehow manage to enrol their families and their children to spend a day without them.

Such was that weekend. Nine of us decided to stay over at five-star resort (courtesy our respective husbands) for a night. Without children and husbands. We drove to the resort in groups with our favourite music blaring, banging our heads like teenage girls and giggling at the surrealness of that moment. 

Once we arrived, we headed for the lavish buffet. It seemed odd, to be able to relish each morsel and talk without a hundred interruptions and emergency exits to the loo.  Odd but refreshing. Back to our rooms overlooking the pine tree lawns, nine of got down to the job of chilling the evening refreshments and of course, taking selfies. 

I’m a disaster when it comes to selfies. But I was with the pros. By the end of the night, I knew how to pout and pose in my most flattering angle. In between the crazy selfie marathon, we got all dressed up for... the pool. Never thought one could dress up for the pool. But we did, sarongs and chunky neckpieces and some with even sported make-up. 

We raised quite a few eyebrows. People aren’t used to seeing women our age hanging out by ourselves at a resort. They expect to see children pulling at our hems and us tailing after our husbands. The green monster of envy spat at us from a few observation corners at the resort. It just made our getaway more memorable.

It is hilarious the amount of time we women took to get ready for an evening inside the room. It was like we were making up for all the hurried dress-ups in the past. Later, music, spirit, funky eye-masks and spin the bottle dominated the evening frivolities. 

We wished we could #party like we were in our teens, but alas, 2 am the ladies bid us three roomies adieu. Unwilling to end the night, one of us pinged all the sleeping beauties at 3 am just for the fun of it. Only to be hung up on. Girlfirends or not, no one is compromising on their beauty sleep. 

Come morning, we had breakfast and got ready to explore the grounds. And guess what... more selfies. An observer might have judged us to be self-absorbed, narcissistic birds. Far from it. 

We were women with enormous responsibilities #rejuvenating, taking care of ourselves so we could take care of our loved ones, better than before. We were women who do not believe in sacrificing their mind, body and soul for their loved ones. We were women who believe in strengthening ourselves so we could be better mothers, wives, daughters, daughters-in-law and human beings.

#Another fine day

It was a fine day indeed, when three of us food-loving women planned our lunch at #Another fine day located in MPD Towers on the #Golf course Road. A tiny restaurant with a basic interior, it didn’t look as fine as the name suggested. But...

The menu seemed more than just fine. We ordered three red wine #Sangrias for ourselves and French fries for the two little menaces we had tagged along. My son Ahren and my friend’s son Avi. While they were busy with their ketchup and fries, the three of us sipped our sinful Sangrias and gossiped.

A mezze platter was presented to us in beautifully painted, white-and-black bowls together on a tray. Batter-fried calamari, fat discs of falafel, creamy chicken scallops stuffed with olive, cigar-shaped spring rolls filled with cheese, bright green salad, creamy hummus and little pita triangles. Yum!

For the kids we ordered pasta in arabiatta sauce. It was too spicy. But the staff willingly refurbished the pasta in a milder sauce which the kids devoured happily. As a mother, I will definitely return to a place that makes happy accommodations for my child’s taste and whims.

Then we ordered two #chicken steaks in mushroom sauce with a side of sautéed veggies and potato wedges.

It was simply sensational. As I cut into the steak, gooey cheese oozed out to my utter delight. The steak itself was cooked perfectly, juicy and pliant. The veggies lacked a little seasoning but as I drowned them in the mushroom sauce, it didn’t matter anymore. And, as if the alcohol, cheese and chicken weren’t enough, we decided to sweeten the day a little more.

But all the good things take time. The fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce took a while. But it was worth the wait. The chocolate brownie arrived in style in a fat glass jar. The dark decadence beckoned our taste buds and we dived in. And there was absolute happiness in the world.

As the bill appeared, the sweetness remained. Reasonable at Rs3700 and scrumptious as proved above. It was an ideal meal.

It was a fine, fine day, and so very sweet.

Lost in #Sikkim

I was tired of travelling to the typical hill stations of India. Cool as they may be, they are overcrowded, commercialised and without charm. So I coaxed my beach-loving husband to travel to Sikkim with me. I wanted to disappear in the isolation and raw beauty of #North Sikkim. So I, a novice at planning vacations, called up a local travel agency in Sikkim. It was called blue something. I did my research before calling them.

I knew exactly where I was going.

At the end of April in 2008, we flew to Bagdogra and then took a taxi to Gangtok. My concern that the journey might be too drawn-out was drowned in a shower of surprise. The rain had washed the trees and shrubs to reveal the infinite possibilities of green. With my eyes plastered to the wet scenery outside, four hours flew swiftly. Our hotel room was quaint and tiny, with a fabulous view of the skyline. In the evening we strolled around the neatly planned market in the heart of the capital. The bakeries and souvenir shops were inviting and very modern. 

But my heart couldn’t wait to get on the road again.

Next morning, our taxi guy--designated by the “blue something” travel agency--arrived.  It was not a comfy Scorpio or Endeavor. It was a hybrid of a Qualis and a Maruti Van. Its utility was not comfort but stability and strength on the treacherous mountain roads. Especially since in the name of roads, there was just a primitive, necessary carving on the side of a mountain to allow tyres to roll. No side railings. No sir. It was either entrust your life in the hands of the driver or go back home.

                                                                        

The bad state of roads was soon forgotten. The lush green trees were beautiful, yes. But what took my breath away were the exquisite flowers that lined the tiny cottages and the hills. Flowers were growing out of the rocky facade of the hills. Flowers decorated the sides of tiny tin shops on the shoulders. Flowers thrived in the most unexpected places. Was I was glad I chose to visit in the flowering season.

After 5 hours of drive, it was soon dark as expected. There wasn’t a flash of street or car light. Our phone networks had bid adieu long ago. I thought to myself. If we get lost, or if something goes wrong, no one will find us. We were truly, utterly lost in Sikkim.

After a while we reached #Lachung, a town that shares a border with Tibet. A quick dinner and we were asleep. Next morning, I surveyed the serene town in the soft morning light. I took a short walk up the road and the town ended. It was smaller than a block in a Delhi colony.

Shortly, our quiet taxi guy arrived. Soon we entered the #Rhodendron park. The whole place was speckled with purples and pinks of these unusual flowers. As we ascended towards #Yumsamadong valley, we made short halts on the way as we came across a few horses and some picturesque spots perfect for a snap. Then, unceremoniously, the taxi stopped. Our driver announced our arrival at the valley.

Surprised, we stepped out and down below was the biggest expanse of green I’d ever seen. We carefully inched down to the valley. Thin streams of water trickled down from everywhere. Yaks grazed peacefully enjoying the #snow-capped-mountain view in the background. Miniscule purple blooms dotted the valley floor. The air was cold and invigorating. We just walked and clicked for a long time.

I did not want to leave. I wanted to make a small hut and stay there forever. My husband smirked and reminded me of the lack of basic amenities and I decided I will just take more pictures.

The taxi drove up further. The landscape became barren and dry. No greens, only brown rocks and deserted army bunks.  Then unexpectedly, came a blizzard. Even our local guy was surprised. But I was happy. It was my first time with snow. And it was so cold and we were so not well-clad. As the taxi drove on I saw a depression on the side of the road that had been turned into a surreal pond by the snow. It was a magical setting. Reluctantly we drove on and reached the 15,000 ft milestone. 

On our way back, we stopped across a bridge frosted with snow. There, in the midst of nowhere was a tiny tent with an old, kind-faced woman selling rum. We scurried towards her and asked for two pegs of rum from her Old Monk bottle.  Sipping, we realised it was just some local alcoholic concoction. Nevertheless, it was warming novelty on that cold day.

#Lachung was our next destination. We drove on through the eye-boggling scenery next day until the driver shattered our reverie with his statement, “I can’t find the pass. It’s not here. I think I gave both the passes at the Lachen checkpoint. We will have to go back.”

We had been travelling for 5 hours already. The city girl in me took charge and told him to find another way. So we took a detour to some official’s house to get a temp pass made. The fact that the driver found a way to remedy the situation earned him my instant forgiveness. And I got back to adoring God’s creative gallery.

We reached the lodge at Lachung. Now I must add that Lachung was even smaller than Lachen. It was more like a small complex of lodges and matchbox-sized houses within a span of ½ km. We retired early.

In the morning we got some stove-boiled water to bathe with. We rented 2 jackets and caps for our excursion to #Gurudongmar lake. On arrival, we parked and walked over to the crowd looking down below. The deepest, purest blue I’d ever seen coloured the water body at the bottom of the crater.

A narrow path ran across the perimeter of the lake. But we were advised to not go down as it’s a long walk and the air is very thin. We took their advice as we were already panting in the violent wind at an altitude of 17,000 ft. We snapped some pictures against the vibrant triangular flags adorning the mountain top and quickly took refuge in the warmth of our cab.

The next morning we said our byes to the friendly helper at the lodge and headed back to #Gangtok. We spent a quiet evening with wine and rain at the hotel, relishing our last night in the untainted land of Sikkim. It was uncomfortable. Yes. The watered-down fish curry was awful. Yes. But nothing can overshadow the beauty our eyes witnessed. Nothing can diminish the memory of the grass-laden, floral valley; the magical snow; the sparkling blue of Gurudongmar and the priceless rum on a frosty day.

The #rain divine

When it rains,

I feel his omnipresence

As the wind carries his ethereal presence

When it rains,

I rediscover his art

As all colours and hues sparkle and bloom

When it rains,

I am intoxicated by his divine fragrance

As the smell of wet earth unravels

When it rains,

I sway to his melodies

As the irridiscent plumes and chirpy wings sing in glee

When it rains,

I hear his silent words

as the world stills in his precipitous manifestation

When it rains,

I always chance upon him

rarely in a temple, a satsang or a book

I’d love to meet him much more

If only it rained a little more

 No #offence but this is b*******

The #feminist in me cocked her eyebrow and pursed her lips in disdain at an outrageous reference to women, especially wives. I’m just glad and thankful to God that I did not hear these words from the horse’s mouth or the horse would have had his hoof stuffed in his mouth for life. I’m a pretty secular person and respect people’s beliefs and the rituals they like to follow. But sometimes  I don’t want to be secular, I just want to be #humanitarian. The offender in question was a muslim man with his wife at a laundry. On being questioned by a member of my family as to why he dressed up his wife in a #burkha he uttered an extremely creative simile. I agree the question was too personal but it is only such questions that force people to question and wonder about their actions and beliefs. Anyway. The very loving husband replied, “A wife is like a box of sweets. If you keep it uncovered it will be infested with flies.”

Wow. That was all I could say when I first heard these words. And these words were spoken loudly in the presence of the object under discussion. For isn’t this simply a man who is objectifying his wife in front of a stranger. I wonder what his wife felt. Perhaps her bringing up, years of hearing such comments and her absolute dependence on the men in her life had made her immune and submissive. But the woman in me was offended and hurt to no end. And I felt worse because I realised that the burkha-clad woman probably agreed with her husband. It’s possible that the man was merely possessive about his beautiful wife. But I don’t think so. This is like saying that all the women behind burkhas are exquisitely beautiful and will have men swooning after them if they were to expose their mere face. Also an implication that men are uncivilised #neanderthals who have underdeveloped brains and uncontrollable urges. If that be the case it should be the men who ought to be restrained. Maybe all men should have electronic devices implanted in the part of the brain that generates these uncontrollable sexual urges. A small electric shock to the brain should do the needful. Isn’t that what we do in the psychiatric wards to patients that have no control over their emotions and urges?

This is of course wishful thinking at the moment. And this isn’t just about muslim men. It’s about all #men. What all men basically want are beautiful, hard-working #wives who don’t speak or demand. Only the muslim world has been successful in achieving that. Isn’t a burkha just ensuring that a woman is just a vessel to give birth, do household chores and satisfy a man’s urge? Isn’t it ensuring that women would have no identity, no rights, no voice? In this so-called free world we have a flourishing system of #slavery of women and the followers of this system have the audacity to say it is God’s word. If you look around you, you will realise that there are many non-muslim men who slyly manage to practise this suppression even without the burkha. To all these men, shame on you for using the power that God gave you to suppress the #women who gave birth to you.

#Mirror, mirror, on the wall.

Women, from times unknown, have been under constant scrutiny. Are her clothes fashionable enough, are her eyebrows the right shape, is her nail paint chipped, is her hair a bit too frizzy, is she a shade too dark? Oh yes, the #fairness obsession. Among all these benchmarks, fairness is a gift envied and lauded. Thus the million-and-a-half #beauty products to make the darkest of skins turn light, irrespective of how unnatural or harmful it may be. The #matrimonial ads are always looking for a fair, slim and educated girl. The #advertisements slyly tell dusky women it’s a crime to remain dark when fairness can be achieved. Our Bollywood blockbusters and magazines photoshop or cake dusky beauties with makeup, transforming them into fair maidens. If you are not dusky and happen to be tanned, your elders will also complain of how unbecoming it is. In this sun-filled country a fair complexion is more important than some Vitamin D. Don't get tanned even if it means getting a shot at the doc's.

The #Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf proposed our society has been conspiring against women by means of vanity. Most women would agree the burden of looking good is phenomenal and never-ending. Add to that #bulimia, #anorexia and #plastic surgery.  It’s frankly, tiring. And we know this. But this requirement is very deeply, universally ingrained in women today. So we struggle every morning, to look better than God made us. To look prettier than the next girl. We mentally reprimand ourselves for being not so perfect. We waste our time in front of the mirror. Trying this and that. And by the time we get out of the door, we have drained out half our brains and energy on the dressing floor. Also, if you observe carefully, our massive advertising industry instigates not only perfect beauty but an eternal rivalry among women. A two-pronged strategy to weaken the fairer sex I would say. #Feminism is nothing but a by-product of this sly suppression. In the last century women burnt their #bras. If another tide of feminism hits the world, I hope to see fairness creams going up in smoke.

I must lightly touch upon the alleged suppression of the male species. I’ve been carefully observing along with many indignant men, the unfair sexual harassment cases and false dowry cases being filed by some unscrupulous women. I wonder how the women convicted and burnt at stake during the witch hunt felt. Injustice perhaps? I’m not condoning these acts of immorality and vengeance. But I see women becoming primary breadwinners and men becoming house husbands. I see women holding positions of power in companies. All this is great I thought. And then I saw the likes of #King Khan and Johnny boy endorsing fairness creams. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Could it be? Is the beauty myth backfiring?

PS: To all the women I know and don’t know. You are #beautiful, for you are #God’s creation. Do not doubt his work of art. You have the divine power to create life. You can create and be anything you want. Just don’t stand in front of the mirror for too long.

“If there is #paradise on Earth, it is here, it is here.”

These famous words are engraved on the pages of history. But the fate of the beautiful valley has been anything but heavenly since the last few decades. #Terrorism rises and ebbs away, rearing its ugly head sporadically, leaving the populace in constant state of uncertainty. #Kashmir is now in the clutches of nature’s wrath. The worst #floods in 60 years have terrorised the residents yet again.

More than 200 people are reported to have died. With the phone towers down, panic has struck hard as those who are stranded and those unable to locate their loved ones desperately seek information. Efforts are being made to bring the telecommunication back online. Apps have been being created to help locate people. Air force choppers and transport aircrafts are working around the clock carrying men, boats and medicines. The army boats are rescuing people from the inundated regions. Naval commandos have been mobilised for the first time ever. Medical camps have been set up to treat the injured. About 68 Relief camps are operative in #Jammu. A control room has been set up to monitor flood relief operations. Goonj and many other NGOs are collecting relief material to be provided to the victims. Around 47,000 people have been rescued till now. The brave teams of the army, the air force,  the #NDRF and the navy have the blessings of thousands of survivors.

The water is slowly receding. The situation is stabilising. But some will never see another day. Some will thank their stars for surviving. And some will bear the scars of this flood on their souls forever. It is ironic and sad that this paradise and its residents have truly seen hell on Earth. Again and again.