Smile

I smile a lot. One day when my friend Satya and I were standing outside a Thai restaurant after dinner because it was raining, I looked into the rain and all those umbrellas and people under the pouring sky and smiled to myself. Most of you probably agree that rain makes you happy. So this middle aged gentleman that was passing by suddenly stopped near me and said "what a wonderful weather for saturday night. Is'nt it?" and smiled. Satya looked at me and said "This is why they say smile is infectious".
More often than not, people give a genuine smile back when I smile at them. Sometimes they say something about the weather or the scarf I am wearing. For the past many years in the united states, smiling at everyone that passes by is one culture that I'd embraced heartily. I love it when I see a pleasant face. I love it when people are not too busy to look around and notice others around them. I love the positive energy that a warm smile generates.
Rewind to my first trip back home after coming to the USA, I was smiling right left and center at all the personnel and passengers in Chatrapathi Intl Airport in Mumbai. Needless to say, I got back weird looks. One young man chased me to ask if I know him. Okay, so back home you smile at people only if you know them. Right? Or else they might fall in love with you or think that you are hitting on them, or worse yet look at you like you are "mad eye Moody" from Harry Potter series:-) So I quickly shunned the US culture and became this poker faced Indian.
All through my growing years, I'd seen many faces that looked like the face that looked back at me in the window pane of the passenger shuttle that took me to the terminal. A face that was stern with knit eye brows. A face that looked like I'd just lost a big battle or had the worst possible journey back home. I looked around the bus and everyone else's faces were the same. Stern. Smileless.
On my most recent trip to India, We traveled by EVA a Taiwanese airline. I met this very friendly and talkative Thai air-hostess named "Wanthana" whose name is the equivalent of "Vandana" in the Indian languages I know. I was amused at the similarities Thailand and India had culturally. So Wanthana and I chatted for a pretty long time, about 3 - 4 hours when the lights in the cabins were shut and all the passengers were fighting the cramped seats to get a good night's rest. She seemed to be very interested both in my motherland India and my foster motherland USA. We covered Sfo to Mumbai. "It is hard to believe that you are Indian!" Wanthana exclaimed. I was kind of perplexed when she said that since I was clad in a salwar-kameez, sporting a bindi and bangles. I was as Indian as it can get. I said " I cannot be anyone else other than Indian, look at me!" Then wanthana explained that Indians are very serious. Her accent made it difficult for me to understand the word serious. Then she smiled and said. "They serious. No smile"
Afterall, the similarities between the land of people and the land of smiles was not that similar at all. India has the most people one can ever see. Okay, may be one can see more people in China. But to me China is no more real than "china town" in downtown SFO. So India is the land of people. You all know what the land of smiles is. Don't you?
May be this is what we have to do before we aim hundred percent literacy or eradication of Child labor. We should all smile first. We should stop to notice the people around us. We should wear our hospitality on our lips. We should teach our children to smile. A smile need not be reserved to our family and friends. All our other brothers and sisters as we claim in our Pledge should see us wearing a smile that can generate so much of positive energy as I'd said before.
"Smile" my cousin N used to write to me often in the letters we wrote to each other. "It is the second best thing you can do with your lips"

Now do not ask me what the first best thing is. For, I never asked her and I am not as romantic as she is anyway. I'll probably say praying is the first best thing. Or may be I'd say "Smile - it is the best thing you can ever do!

Mom.

My mom often tells me about the picture that flashes in her mind when she thinks of me. "long fingers- flushed pink" She would recollect the image with dilated eyes " with a teeny movement". The first glimpse she had of me - my fingers. She often tells me that I was the easiest labor she had had, in spite of being her heaviest baby. She tells me how I used to have a flair for food and a penchant to not tire my body trying to crawl or walk. yeah, I was this overweight, Bald baby. Oh yeah, lazy too. The saving grace - long fingers perhaps. So that is what she remembers fondly these many years after having me.
Mom also remembers how I used to be a kleptomaniac when I was in kindergarten. I used to come home with a bag full of pencils that I'd "collect" from the pencil boxes of my class mates. And she used to send them back with an apology note to Mrs.Transfield our kindergarten teacher. Rest assured, I do not have a memory of that, nor do I have any traces of those tendencies left. Promise.
She remembers a lot more things that is classified information too sensitive and private to share in a blog, even on a brave impulse. So I'll let them be that way and try to get back on track without straying too much and boring you with how I was as a baby and toddler.
So - Mom. A word that packs so much of punch in a single syllable. A word that personifies love, sacrifice and duty. A word that is so complexly simple. I am ashamed to admit that I didn't quiet fathom the depths of being a mom till I became one. It was a very complicated feeling. It was vulnerable, happy, actually ecstatic and confusing all rolled into one. Being a mother added a new dimension to being a person. I didn't understand it till date if I'd become more sensible or sensitive after being a mom. When I was taking the flight to the US after I got married, I pulled my mom to a side and begged her not to cry since I was not up to a reciprocation - A teary farewell. I probably didn't like wearing my heart on my sleeve, or I was well aware of a new beginning in my life and didn't want to cry in that daze. My mom obliged. She didn't cry. At least not in front of me. I could almost feel the tears in her eyes. I just didn't see them.

Aarti came into my life and showed me taught me a thing or two. She has me wrapped around her little finger. Just today, I had a bad back, but she insisted that I carry her on my hip, while she would rest her head on my shoulder and her little baby doll would almost puncture my neck in that awkward angle but Aarti would not let go of her. She wanted to cuddle her baby while she wanted me to cuddle mine. So, in an weird group hug and a wrenching pain in the spinal cord, I thought about my mom and thanked her - just like that!

Aarti is still cuddling with her baby doll on this side of the bed, where I sit at her feet with my laptop. Her tender cheek resting on the head of the bald doll and her fingers clutching tightly to the doll's hand. This image will definitely become one of those 'mom' moments for me. A moment that I'll narrate to her till she would be thirty and beyond.

And back to my mom, I should admit that I was the reason for her tears many a time. I made her cry when I left her after my wedding. I made her cry when she was with me in my labor room. I made her cry when I held my baby for the first time. I probably made her cry on many more occasions that I do not remember. I'd reciprocated her tears just once, after walking on this earth for twenty nine years and receiving her services for nearly that long.

When my mom left me after serving me for five long months during and after my delivery, I, for the first time, felt the twitch of heart, that she'd felt for me the moment she saw those long fingers, flushed pink with a teeny moment thirty years ago. I cried openly, awkwardly and childishly, blowing my nose with a box of Kleenex in my hand when she'd left me that warm July night. Cause I'd had more than a baby. I'd had the heart to appreciate a mom.

Skin Deep

The last time I travelled to India, I figured that many things had changed. My In-laws' place was not sub-urban like it used to be before and I saw a lot of businesses come up, especially the ones selling designer Sarees and Salwars. Not to mention the ones selling dreams and beauty. There were two beauty parlors just stone's throw away in our quiet neighborhood, promising a slimmer bod and a fairer complexion to all their customers just like many more of their kind.
Since spas, pedicures and manicures are so much more expensive here in the United States, I got tempted to pamper myself with a pedicure and a facial. I chose the nearest beauty joint to go reward myself. Armed with a cell phone so that my MIL can call me if Aarti gets out of hand, I headed out.
I waited for a few minutes before I got to my appointment and could not help over hearing the conversation between the lady that owned the clinic and one of her customers. "I did not see the 'glow' this time" The customer complained. "you should go for the bleach before the facial" the owner suggested. And then there was a big lecture about how to make the skin appear lighter and a sales pitch that promised the coveted glow if a certain kind of creme was used.

Fast forward to my utter disbelief when I saw the variety of facials they offered. They had a gold one, a silver one and an all natural fruit-skin-detox (or something like that) that would not have costed me any less than something similar sounding here in the US. I chose the most affordable one and begged to skip the bleaches or anything else that could be a potential hazard to my over sensitive, acne prone oily skin. I re-heard the similar sales pitch about achieving a glow. In my case, she insisted that she had a product to help with my acne related redness. I politely excused myself saying "I'll think about it".

Walking back home I was suddenly stuck by the fairness obsessed society we lived in. The conversation between those ladies made me realise how beauty is looked at as being 'fair'.

It did not take me much time to notice everything else that was fairness related. the famous "Fair and Lovely" creme was not the monopoly in the market any more, I'd noticed on the trip to a hyper market to buy some groceries. The beauty isles were busting at seams with fairness soaps, lotions and even cleansers. Shah rukh Khan was advertising a fairness creme for men. Isha Deol was endorsing another creme that boasted of making the skin fairer in just six weeks. An unknown model was shown getting a better husband after using a particular fairness soap. And the fairness fever was not confined to the idiot box. People who visited us to see Aarti noticed her complexion before anything else. As I mom, I wanted people to see her as a happy baby. Not a fair one. I wanted them to see the dimple on her cheek or those shining eyes with lush lashes. Nada...her complexion gets the vote. Everywhere, everyone has a faint or a strong obsession with fairness. From my 11 year old cousin to the 75 yr old I knew - everyone is partial to fair skin.
the fairness mania that existed for ever in our society, suddenly manifested itself the moment I started noticing it. i wondered if the outsourcing of the female leads in telugu movies was fairness related as well. I wondered what Aishwarya Rai had more than the earthy and brown complected Rekha to walk away with the title of the better "Umrao Jaan". I was depressed to see the matrimonial ads that wanted a "fair" bride and the tan girls around me that had a complex due to their skin tone. So what does beauty boil down to? Having fair skin?? The most beautiful women I'd seen so far were not fair. They were beautiful without being necessarily fair. The radiance a warm smile generates is lost in the obsession for a lighter skin tone. The girl that is smart and sensible loses the chance to meet her prince charming because she is not fair?? What kind of a message is Shah rukh, the icon of millions giving to his blind fans? Does having a fairer skin promise you a better life partner or worse yet, a better life?
I hope the yonger generation gets to learn that true beauty is all about how are from the inside and nothing about how your skin looks on the outside.
Fairness according to me, is only a reflection of the melanin content under our skin. I am flabbergasted at what a big deal it is made out to be.
That being said, the prayer for being in a society that looks beyond the skin tone joins my prayer for world peace. Amen.

Influence.

There are things that had happened recently and people that crossed my path yesterday that are forgotten. And then there are things that happened and people that crossed my path a couple of decades ago and are still fresh in memory like they had happened just yesterday. This blog is dedicated to one such person and numerous memories revolving around that person and most importantly this is a tribute to a woman that unfolded to me, the love for language, literature and writing and the teacher that taught me some great lessons in life.
Ms. Sheela was best known for her flawless complexion and sense of style. I have layers and layers of details that I remember about her.The first things I noticed about her when she was our English teacher in the year 1988 were the robust cascade of hair that fell below her waist, the stainless steel hair pins that gathered and parted her hair at the sides and a globe like crystal that adorned her dainty neck occasionally. She was all about Chiffon sarees, wide framed glasses that strained her cheeks and formed a natural flush of color and a soft voice that whistled ever so slightly when she pronounced the letter "s"
Until she started teaching us that is. "Sing me a song of the lad that's gone" by RL Stevenson was the first piece of poem she taught us. "I met a Bushman" was the first piece of prose. She used to painstakingly write down the essays on the black board for us to copy. Some accused her of spoon feeding. It was alright by me as I never took notes down. One day she caught me sketching her picture on the back of my notebook. "Whose picture is this supposed to be?" she questioned looking at a pic that probably looked very much like her with that hairstyle that never changed in the academic year, and the glasses that she never removed. We never saw her without her glasses nor did we catch her uttering a word in Telugu. That day, after the class I ran out to apologise to her. She patted my head and smiled that it was okay.
She probably started noticing me then. But she stood up and actually took notice of me when I was the only person who wrote an essay that was not dictated by her in the class. She said that I was great and except for a couple of spelling mistakes, my essay was awesome. Incidentally, my essay was about the beautiful world that books present to us. She took every chance - every time, to stop and appreciate the things that I did differently, the poems that I deciphered differently and the grammar exercises that I cracked before the rest of the class. I never thought that I loved writing as much as I did after having her as my English teacher or it was probably the attention I got from her that made me love the language.
In the process of appreciating the language, I wrote a lot of senseless writings and took them to her in the staffroom during intervals and lunch breaks. She never turned me down. She always patted my back, always wrote "Very Good" in small, neat letters in the margin of my note book.
I used to make up stories about the love of her life and imagine the kind of mom she would be to her children and the kind of man she would fall for. My little gray cells wondered what she was like when she was my age and where she shopped for those elegant sarees and one of a kind accessories. It was an admiration that bordered on obsession. I used to imitate her hair style and longed for a pair of glasses.
On a couple of occasions, she read my essays in the class. That would beat the experience of an author's book reading any day. She was never rude to me or anyone in the class. Her anger was subtle and it made us all obey her without her getting worked or yelling at us.
"My donkey Sally", "Maggie cuts her hair" and "She walks in beauty" were some of the lessons that I'll never forget - thanks to her.
What ever little I write, what ever little I started understanding about poise, elegance and professionalism, I learnt from her. She never ever talked about anything else in the class, except about the subject on hand. That to me was the epitome of professionalism then - and even now.
In my twenty first year, my fashion icon's hairstyle was imitated by me, on my wedding day. It was weird that I thought about her on the rush and excitement of getting married to the love of my life:-)
She must have come across hundreds of students like me and I am not sure if she'd remember me at least faintly. To me the layers and layers of details come to mind every now and then. I imitate her, not just in that hairstyle but also in the way she talked and carried herself. Most of all , I remember her as the greatest, most positive influence in my growing years. An influence strong enough to sustain me thru a handful of decades to come and here she is with me, across seven oceans from that remote town in coastal AP, after a couple of decades of walking into my life - making me type a nostalgic blog!

Enemy.

Fortunately, I am one of those gifted people that would not hold grudges so I am about to talk about weight loss, my enemy for life.
Just around Aarti's first b'day, I thought I would lose 20 pounds by the time she is 18 months. Now she is 23, I mean almost 24 and where does my weight stand? Just 5 pounds lesser than what it was a year ago on a bad day and 8 pounds lesser on a good one. So I thought I should probably give up fighting with that enemy of mine. Or should I just change my strategy? Oh, wait a minute - It could be lack of motivation. Or is it will power? No matter what it is weight is here to stay and loss is, well....anything but loss of mass! The state of the art treadmill journeyed from the living room to Aarti's play room and one of these days, it'll probably carve a niche for itself in the garage. Right now it is being used as a station for drying towels, heaping Aarti's mega blocks before they reach the toy box and of course it also functions as a "wow" factor for all the girl friends that walk into our house. "Do you walk daily?" they ask innocently, like I'd suddenly appeared 20 pounds lighter. "Do I look like I do?" I make a joke of myself patting my post partum ponch.
And this enemy appears ubiquitous. All my girl friends barring one (that comes to mind instantly) are "pleasingly plum" like we'd started calling ourselves. We sit and chat incessantly about joining weight watchers, hatha yoga classes or sometimes even about going on a crash diet like the "cabbage soup" one. Some of my friends with the 'funny bones' go to the extent of calling their mass "takes the shape of the container" etcetera. We drool over size two jeans and cute spring dresses. We promise to stop one another when we are going for that extra helping of pizza or ice cream. We remind ourselves that we look at overweight people and think that they a)have poor life styles (or) b)are lazy (or) c)eat a lot (or) d) all of the above and some one who is watching us might think the same thing about us. we justify ourselves that being a little over weight is good in child bearing years.
Okay, so back to the enemy itself - so how do all those people on nutrisystem diet lose a whale of weight , like a 150 pounds? How does getting on the ab glider or rider or roller or what ever it is make you get post partum abs like that of Madonna? How does going on a weight loss boot camp or turbo jamming make you a fashion model? I have no idea - since I am the one that could not lose 2o pounds in a span of 12 long months.
Pathetic! Isn't it? well, may be not. I kind of think I am comfortable with who I am. Or may be I need to second guess myself. Okay, may be I am not really as horrible as I think I am. Or may be losing that 20 pound would make me look like a beauty contest winner or better yet would add a decade to my life. May be I'll wrinkle soon and weight loss really doesn't matter at that point in life. Am I really that vain? Gawd...I am vain! Oh, no I am not.

So...what ever the out come is, the argument continues and this self critical Virgo will go on criticising herself like billions of not so self critical women belonging to the other zodiacs. The bottom line....my enemy, weight loss and I, are going to have a long, unenduringly unending and fruitless relationship for life.

Riddle.

Here's a Riddle for you.

There was a man back in '95
Whose heart ran out of summersBut before he died,
I asked himWait, what's the sense in life
Come over me, Come over me
He said,"Son why you got to sing that tune
Catch a Dylan song or some eclipse of the moon
Let an angel swing and make you swoon
Then you will see... You will see.
"Then he said,"Here's a riddle for you
Find the Answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...
"Picked up my kid from school today
Did you learn anything cause in the world today
You can't live in a castle far away
Now talk to me, come talk to me
He said,"Dad I'm big but we're smaller than small
In the scheme of things, well we're nothing at all
Still every mother's child sings a lonely song
So play with me, come play with me
"And Hey Dad Here's a riddle for you
Find the Answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...I said,
"Son for all I've told youWhen you get right down to the
Reason for the world...Who am I?
"There are secrets that we still have left to find
There have been mysteries from the beginning of time
There are answers we're not wise enough to see
He said... You looking for a clue
I Love You free...
The batter swings and the summer flies
As I look into my angel's eyes
A song plays on while the moon is hiding over meSomething comes over me
I guess we're big and I guess we're small
If you think about it man you know we got it all
Cause we're all we got on this bouncing ball
And I love you freeI love you freely
Here's a riddle for youFind the Answer
There's a reason for the worldYou and I...

Lyrics of The Riddle by five for Fighting. Catch the music video on Youtube.
Type "riddle five for fighting"

A new beginning.

A new year that is. Is it not amazing how far we got into the decade? Wasn't it yesterday that there was this hoopla about Y2K and all those super-paranoid friends of mine stocked up their cupboards with supplies like there was going to be an earth quake?
It was definitely yesterday that I became a mother and Aarti is already snapping back that it is "nauth funnie" when I laugh at her attempts to climb out of her crib. Yeah, she is in a toddler bed now, safe from those scary attempts to attain freedom.
It seems like yesterday that Bush Jr became the unexpected president and he is already at the end of his second term, almost! Now I am here wondering if I am a sexist or a racist in a confusion about Obama and Hillary.
It was yesterday that my little nephew Atul was born. He is eight today and attends a drug awareness class now and insists on not taking the cough medicine that has a minuscule alcohol content.
Assure me that it was just yesterday that I was this clueless young woman. Now I am into the third decade of my life with a eight year old marriage and two year old daughter.
Many more countless events happened just yesterday but we are half way through the first month of the year 2008 - which drives home a fact. Time passes by like whirlwind, taking away with it a lot of things. We all should live each day to its fullest, stop to appreciate our loved ones, tell our spouses and children that we adore them immensely, call our friends at least once in a while, have a connection with our heavenly Father (or Mother if you believe it is a 'she'), share our fortunes and blessing with the ones that are less fortunate and smile always.
Happy New Year. Enjoy each day, relish each moment because 2028 will be here tomorrow and 2008 will be a yesterday in the blink of an eye.

Black friday.

I was here, in the glamorous united states since I was 22. That is for eight years for people who don't know how old I am now (LOL) and I've never been out shopping on a black Friday. One of my dear friends who wanted to go shop with me ditched me for a skiing trip to a nearby tourist spot. Determined to find out what the hype is about, I planned a trip with Appu, my childhood friend turned husband's colleague's wife. The colleague also happens to be a childhood friend of mine. Anyway, Appu and I spent the whole night in a typical "preteen sleepover" kind of a way in anticipation of black Friday by straightening our hair with a new styling iron I'd purchased. We were all set to hit the roads at 5 am. My agenda was to go to Toysrus and pick up some little princess dolls for Aarti and get a price adjust on a pair of Dale tiffany lamps I'd purchased a couple of days ago. I planned to buy Cinderella, Belle and Ariel the mermaid. The savings I was looking at were $24. i was hoping for a $30 refund on my tiffany inspired lighting.
So here's how it went. My car was parked in the ruthless cold of Best buy parking lot since 8 pm of the previous night. Santu was the 100th person in line to get some gadgets. I was not used to take out Sarat's car (who promised to take care of Aarti whole I shop for the cheapest deals known to humankind!) and so Appu and I got into Sarat's car, drove to wal mart where Kittu (Appu's husband) scored a slow cooker that they might never use for $5 and an Elmo toy that he decided to return the next day for $10 after staying out of home like Santu since 8 pm the previous night. My hands were almost twisting in that cold and my spine could feel the heat of the cold through four layers of clothing. We swapped Sarat's Infinity with Kittu's Camry. Thus Appu and I headed to Toysrus around 5 40 am and the door was literally busting with the rest of the world that had set out to find the cheapest deals known to human kind except that most of them didn't find what they wanted just 30 minutes after the doors opened and there was a line to the cash register that would put a Freebie line to shame. All I got was an Ariel little princess toy and Appu picked up a fisher price lap top at a savings of $15. fast forward to 7 30 am and both of us were out of the stores with a combined savings of $23. That $23 costed us a good night's sleep, almost two hours in a bee line to that god forsaken cash register, a head ache, a day out of our thanksgiving weekend and an upset stomach for me.
Now, please don't get me started on that $30 I was counting as a refund for my Dale Tiffany lamps. I could have paid $100 more for both the lamps if I'd waited for black Friday. So, if I saw the glass as half full, I actually learnt that I saved $100 by not shopping on black Friday.
Since I was out in the mall anyway, I roamed around for a couple of hours and probably burned some calories at the cost of a toddler crying for mom at home and a husband clueless about what is happening. Santu, in spite of being out since 8 pm didn't do as well as he thought he would. So girls who played dress-up should probably not complain.
Black Friday is a scam. A trap to lure innocent buyers. An utter waste of time and money. These are the words of wisdom that ring in my mind as I am typing this blog which adds one more thing to the things that have costed me on that fateful Friday morning - sanity and emotions.

Om Scanty Om.

*******Spoiler alert*******
Don't tell me I didn't warn you.
**********
Okay, here's my second look at Om scanty Om, the second baby of Farah Khan.
What is scanty here? Everything moi says. Logic to begin with, Originality, creativity and believability added to it. And the scantiest of all is the presence of Shanti that is minimal and overshadowed by none other than our King bhayya.

First things first. Deepika, the new model turned actor on block is unbelievably believable. Her dusky complexion, graceful dance moves and that dentfric smile makes a straight gal like me yearn for more and the icing on the cake is that she manages to act. Being an ardent admirer of Waheeda Rehman and her classic high cheek bones, I found Deepika a beauty fit to hold a candle to none other than late Guru Dutt's muse.

That six pack Salman claimed to have lent Shahrukh doesn't fit on the latter as perfectly as it fits on the former. Those pics you folks have seen floating around the world wide web are heavily - yeah, you are right - photoshopped. His item Darde disco fell flat except for Sukhwinder's soulful voice. He looked thin but not sleek and I did not understand why he had to try so hard. People watch him anyway. Don't you people??? And he doesn't really require to sport a six pack.

Shreyas Talpade has more to do than our good ol Shanti. And he did it well. Kirron Kher did a good job acting overacting. LOL. Her philmi maa attire is adorable in a strange way.

Now to the story line. It is a formula one straight out of 70s. Many of Farah's tricks looked stale and downright copied. From Dhoom tana which looked like a rip off from her Cousin Farhan Akthar's "Woh Ladki Hai Kahan" to the title track which reminded me of some Amithab's song it was all recycling. No marks for creativity. No, not even a half.

"Titles like Phir Bhi dil hai NRI" and "Main Bhi hoon naa" got meek responses from the audince. Moi says they were okay. I have seen a lot of Farah Khan on Indian Idol season 2 and the way she talks irks me. Her dance moves are very creative. Her direction is entertaining but anything else, it is'nt.

KK's song rocks. Music rocks too. Arjun Rampal doesn't have much to deliver.
The session where Shahrukh imitates Rajnikanth is where I laughed. that was done well.

I wondered aloud the other day that Om shanti Om is a very childish movie. My kid brother, a die hard Shahrukh fan, jumped in defense and said something like ' I did not go to the movie to become a man. I wanted entertainment and got the bang for my buck" Well, if you are like him, you'll like it. If you are like me you won't. Because all said and done, OSO is a very childish movie.

The box office, I understand, begs to differ. But I think that is just desperate janta watching the best of the worst. Definitely not a Shahrukh kind of a hit.

OSO will be forgotten for a lot of reasons. I would, however, remember it for one thing for ever. It is Aarti's first movie in the theatre and she was a doll. With a bag of pop corn in her hand and her little mouth busy chewing, she did not just stare at the screen with animated eyes but she also looked like she was enjoying what she was seeing. This one, probably is another one of those who do not want to become a man/woman watching a movie.

I was better off reading that two and a half hours, had it not been for Aarti;-))

License.

I recently met a person who'd cleared his CA driver's license the 5Th time around. That was one time higher than me. I thought I'd blog about the nightmare I called "acquiring a license to drive"
People who know me know that I am a girly girl. I never really bothered to learn to ride a bicycle or a bike. Let alone driving a two wheeler, I was paranoid about crossing the road. Now I am talking about the good old Indian roads where you just walk past all those lorries and city buses madly honking at you (and those honks fall into a bedlam of a gazillion honks that flood your ears while your eyes look at the expanse of a jam like traffic moving at a pace possible only in action movies!)and wish for a miracle to reach the other side of the road in a single piece.
I heard people quote intelligent sounding sentences. "you are a handicap if you cannot drive here" an older man opined. "except that no one will pity you"
Well, I think he was right.
I was bent upon getting a license more to get rid of the people who haunted me in my dreams asking "do you have a license yet?" than to get rid of the "handicap - no pity" situation.
Sarat didn't want to teach me. yeah, the cliche of the first quarrel with the spouse. We'd actually had our first quarrel already but he didn't agree anyway.
I scheduled for an instructor to come and teach me by patiently calling all the numbers I found in the yellow pages, zeroing on the most friendly sounding fellow.
The D day dawned and I got out for my first lesson, and the second and the third till I found the guts to drive all by myself. I'd taken a good 8 months and three instructors in the process of "learning" to drive and already flunked a test one of my instructors took me to in Hayward.
Then came the time when Sarat thought that I could do the driving all by myself.
My second test was a miserable failure that lasted a good three minutes. I drove out of the DMV and heard a guy honk from behind, before I reached the signal. The examiner thought I was too slow and the rest was history.
My third time was pretty cool I though. At least till the time we completed the whole test and got out of the car (which meant that there were no critical errors) but the anti climax was that I was too fast. The instructor, a young Asia woman, called my husband and told him about the escapade of a driving test and refused the license as she thought I'd not drive in the stipulated speed limits.
It was time for a new written test that was more like one of those reading comprehension tests in CAT. The questions started pouring. Every time a person saw a car in eye shot, they would ask me the million dollar question. "Sp do you have your license yet?"
God knows how I tried to avoid any and all conversations and people that had a potential to ask me THE question. I spent quiet a few sleepless nights, virtually driving in my dreams that I dreamt with my eyes wide opened while on my back, staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep.
"It has just two controls, the gas and the steering" a well meaning friend tried to cheer me up. "It is not rocket science" a relative observed.
I had to take it opon me to prove that I am not "fine motor skill" deprived. I tried for the fourth time, which, surprisingly turned out to be the final time, the lucky time, the celebrating time.
This was four years ago. I never go on long drives. My driving destinations on a regular basis are the Bart station, the mall, the grocery store, the library or a few places that fall under the jurisdiction of the city of Dublin and Pleasanton.
It is a relief to have a Driver license when a store manager asks for an identity, it is a blessing to have on those days when you want that Quiznos sandwich bad and there is no one around to drive you there. It is a privilege to have when you want to hit that store that has the most happening sale before the bargain queens hit it. Most of all it is a boon to have when someone asks "Can you drive?"

Translation.

A young boy's original thoughtfulness translated into Queen's English.

Tears - Dual role of happiness and sorrow.

I wish nothing is really lost in translation here!