The Great Indian ‘Tamaacha’

Indians love theatrics and it is no surprise that we have the world’s largest film industry. Bollywood always brings out the patriot in me and I am perpetually planning the next outing for the latest blockbuster- Khan or no Khan, story or no story!  But I am hugely amazed at the stiff competition poor old Bollywood has had to face in recent times and that too from much unexpected quarters- Indian politics. Political dramas have captured all the air time leaving no scope for anything else. National leaders as well as regional ones are all competing with each other as scam after scam keeps getting unearthed. It is high time the key members of this play get their due recognition and are aptly felicitated. So welcome to the “Tamaacha Awards” and I would like to take this opportunity to thank the winners for being the inspiration behind the name. I am also very pleased that the old stalwarts like Lalu Prasad Yadav, Mulayam Sigh Yadav are no longer in the reckoning thus paving way for fresh talent!

 Tamaacha award for Fashionista of the year:  The winner of this award definitely came from behind (yes pun intended) and suddenly become most worthy of this honour. You guessed right, it is Uttar Pradesh’s Behenji, Mayawati. Finally we have our own answer to Imelda Marcos. Just picture Mayawati accepting her award in her Jimmy Choos or Louboutins (whichever she fancies and thus gets planeloads of) and dedicating this award to Julian Assange in her acceptance speech. She did face stiff competition from Didi (Mamta Banerjee for the uninitiated) clad in her white and blue Bata Hawaii Chappals, unfazed by neither the occasion nor the setting.

Tamaacha award for Fastest Thinker of the year: This award has been tailor made for Rahul Baba or Rahul Gandhi as some still call him. If you are not fully convinced about this one- see the chronology of events for yourself. Anna Hazare went on fast for the Jan Lokpal Bill on 7^th April 2011 marking the start of this public movement. The government made him a bigger hero by arresting him on 16^th August 2011, also the same day when he started his now historic second fast. Rahul Baba finally spoke about this on 26^th August amidst much hue and cry, with darling sis sitting in the parliament for moral support, more than 250 hours after the whole nation was gripped in Anna’s frenzy. And when a reporter asked Rahul Baba why he took so long to comment on the situation, he replied like a hero “I want to answer this question. I spoke now because I like to think before I speak”! Wah wah, kudos! He may still become Prime Minister but one thing is for sure- Rahul Gandhi can never endorse Chyawanprash or even brands like Horlicks or Complan. 

Tamaacha award for Most Camera Ready Person of the year: The award goes to The Honourable Speaker of the Lok Sabha, Ms Meira Kumar. I salute her for smiling through the turbulent proceedings of our Parliament. MPs screaming, hurtling abuses or mikes, staging walk outs, thumping tables, she manages to paste her smile right on her face. Not once has the camera been able to catch her unawares. Never does her smile falter, even while reprimanding errant members, screeching “Baith Jaiye, Bolne deejiye, Shunya Kaal hai”. Imagine hours and hours of mouthing these very words and still being camera ready with an omnipresent smile! I say we coin a new phrase ‘Meira’s smile’ and replace the more passé ‘Monalisa Smile’. And who would she thank in her acceptance speech- all the ill mannered, shouting, hollering MPs of course!

 Tamaacha award for Lame Duck of the Year: Once again the choice is unanimous. The award goes to our most honest and once upon a time quite respected Prime Minister, Shri Manmohan Singh.  The filmi character that he currently bears a striking resemblance with is Nirupa Roy from yesteryears.  His charitra is as pavitra and he is as laachar as her if not more! From the humongous Rs 1.76 lakh crore ‘2G Spectrum scam’ to the hugely embarrassing Commonwealth games fiasco, from the recent ‘cash for vote scam’ to the inept handling of the Anna Hazare situation he cuts a sorry figure with neither any say nor any power. If the now Tihar elite A Raja, Kanimozhi, Kalmadi are villains, Manmohan is no hero either. And who would he like to thank in his acceptance speech- Madam Sonia Gandhi for being the best puppeteer in the nations’ history.

Tamaacha award for Best Debut of the year: This award goes to Ms Kanimozhi. The “I don’t care if it is day or night, I’m wearing my sunglasses” DMK top honcho Karunanidhi suddenly presented this docile looking woman with a complicated name as his chosen one on the national political scene. Who is she we all asked- she is his youngest daughter from his third (that’s correct!) wife. From being the chief of DMKs wing for ‘Art, Literature and Rationalism’ to mastering the ‘Art of chakki peesing’, this poet has come a long way. Half brothers Stalin and Azagiri must be thanking their stars now that she was the prodigal one! And no prizes for guessing who gets maximum thanks in her acceptance speech- who else but Daddy dearest.

Special Jury Tamaacha award for Luckiest Person of the year: The nominees for this award are all the journalists who have been having a field day with so many scams, revolutions, revelations, allegations, sting campaigns etc etc. This really is the golden era of political journalism. But there can be only one winner and the award goes to Barkha Dutt. Her career is blossoming almost at the same rate as her waistline. Each day brings in its fold a new debacle thus giving her a chance to preach, judge, rebuke, sensationalise and package the news as she pleases and present it to her masala demanding audience. From Kargil to Ram Lila Maidan, she has definitely covered a lot of ground. Needless to say, her heartfelt vote of thanks goes to all the above mentioned winners!

With this we wrap up the first edition of the Tamaacha Awards but our politicians willing, this will definitely not be the last.

BLAST FROM THE PAST

India’s defeats in the recent test matches against England have taken sporting disasters to a new dimension. Being defeated is one thing, but in this case, we were destroyed, annihilated, marauded, humiliated-take your pick of word. Thankfully, we are in that era now where losing by over 300 runs seems like a typographical error- India must have won by 300 runs! This defeat takes me back to the time when our nail chewing, meek mannered Indian side would almost always lose to the gum chewing, sledging Australians. I still shudder at those memories and if I was an American, I would probably have needed therapy to get over those instances! So when BCCI chartered a plane and threatened to cancel the tour of Australia my adrenalin rush was no less than Harbhajan’s. Such is the power of nostalgia!

Thank heavens this phenomenon is not restricted to cricket alone. Post liberalization most aspects of our life have undergone drastic change, thankfully for the better. So the one thing that abounds in our generation is nostalgia which by definition is bittersweet. Many a cosy evenings are now spent amongst friends while sipping wine or whiskey swapping hilarious childhood tales (takes around 15 years to switch from sordid to hilarious).“Hey did you also count stars during load shedding?” “You bet dude, I am from Guwahati! Must have counted every single star that a naked eye can see” or “Remember how long it took to get a phone connection? It took us 3 years, without tatkaal of course”. Huge bout of laughter erupts. We all take turns in narrating how our families would dial the operator’s number and place trunk calls, PP trunk calls and the all important ‘lightening calls’. Then wait for a few days again to get that call. After all this effort, I remember Mom would get a grand total of 3 minutes to finish her call! Want to buy a shining new Maruti Suzuki 800, wait for a few years again. Waiting was definitely the name of the game. And the one topic that always gets the most vociferous participation is bad old Doordarshan! 

Salma Sultan playing Chinese whisper when she was supposed to be reading the news tops the charts with ‘sorry for the interruption’ signs as permanent as the rose that she wore on her hair.  Nothing changed, not even the songs on the then super hit Chitrahaar where we had to see a stoned Pradeep Kumar croon ‘Jo wada kiya wo nibhana padega’ at least once a fortnight. Imagine a whole generation of Indians growing up watching the same three soaps- Khandaan, Buniyaad and (I wince at this one even after all these years) Hum Log. Talk about equal opportunity, or rather equal lack of opportunity. I am certain that if I ever hear the words “Ek Chidiya” I will immediately don my most nasal voice and start singing ”Anek Chidiya” or say “jugat lagani hogi”! I don’t think even amnesia could erase these words and tunes from our heads.

Today supremely talented marketers (my husband included!!!) work tirelessly to create ads that are clutter breaking and carry extensive research to track the viewership, recall etc etc. We really can’t remember most of the ads that we see now after a couple of months, but we all can still sing entire jingles like “jab mai chota bachcha tha, badi shararat karta tha, meri chori pakadi jaati, jab roshni deta Bajaj”, “Vicco turmeric, nahi cosmetic, Vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream”, “Sabki pasand Nirma” and still use anecdotes like “arre Raju, tumhare daant to motiyon jaise chamak rahe hain”!!!!! 

There was nothing remotely cool about DD and the acronym could easily stand for Dreary Dinosaur. But that was until Shah Rukh Khan came like a cool breeze on a hot summer afternoon in Fauji. While this seemed to be the highlight of my pre teen years, my 6 year old son recently threw a tantrum as there was nothing interesting to watch in any of the 9 kids’ channels, his Nintendo Wii games were all old and to add to his woes, Dad had not downloaded any new App in the Ipad. Talk about being deprived! Thank heavens for the changing times. I feel truly lucky to be a part of my generation. As an ardent sports fan, I still clap my hands in glee every time I get to watch a close match in the English Premier League or witness Messi’s magic in La Liga because I know that in the DD days I would have only watched football once in four years! And the joy of watching cricket without ever hearing the words ‘kalaiyon ka kamaal’!!! But the one thing that I am happiest about, is that DD is safely, securely and surely a part of my nostalgia, a part of my Past!

What’s In A Word?

“I need space”. Ooops! As soon as I finished mouthing these words, the colour drained from my husband’s face. The wine glass was kept down and most shockingly, the TV was turned off though Arsenal was trailing 0-1 against Stoke City.  I had his full, undivided and visibly scared attention. He held my hands, looked into my eyes, absolutely petrified. 

His Brain: Oh God! She needs space. Where does this come from? Our first marital crisis- must be because of the shift to South Africa. What else can it be? I am definitely not ready for such drama right now. This is not good. Will l become one of those sordid stories where rock solid guys go spiralling down in their career because their spouse could not adjust in new surroundings?  There was that article in the Economist on how families from Eastern Europe find it gruelling to settle in London. Such upheaval when they shift less than 1500 kilometres and that too within the same continent. I had attributed this upon language and at that time had smirked on our linguistic and therefore geographical flexibility. To think of it Polish speak Polish, Chinese speak Chinese, Dutch speak Dutch, French speak French, but I think because there is no such language as Indian, we speak a whole lot of languages!  I was sure I would never have to face these issues as I was really thorough in accepting where to relocate.  Language, wide Indian Diaspora, safe upmarket estate for residing, school with multicultural kids, lovely weather, exceptional natural beauty, even the super essential domestic help- all available- and she still complains and needs space. What is a man supposed to do? 

My Brain: Why is he acting so surprised? Of course I need space. Overcoats, jerseys, suede jackets, thermals and leggings jostle with shorts, vests, halter neck tops and sun dresses. Unavoidable really if you live in a hemisphere different from the rest of the world. Freeze your brains in the minus 3 degrees temperature here and thaw it back in the 40 degrees plus temperature melting you in India! Any self respecting Indian girl will have these three categories of clothes- Indian, western and indo-western and the conformist that I am, so do I. My South African friends love my eye popping collection of gorgeous chiffon sarees, raw silk salwar kameezes and pashmina shawls  and I love my chic dresses, corset tops and balloon skirts. It may be a post thirty thing but I only studied psychology for the grades (and being in my thirties, even that was eras ago) to be able to do any further psychoanalysis. And let me not even begin on the shoes- boots of varying lengths and colours, flip flops, peep toes, ballerinas, slippers, pumps, stilettos, wedges- what does a girl do? Being appropriately dressed does take time, money, energy and space. And what about the overloaded kitchen cabinets about to burst spraying every conceivable spice and condiment that one has ever seen or even heard. This can potentially have a dangerous domino effect – fix any damage yourself (groan......another dreaded DIY project)-to be able to fix buy more electric saws, drills, screwdrivers, sand papers that we are absolutely terrified of- find more space to keep the above mentioned terrifying tools. Aha! I must present this line of argument to him first as the ingredients here are much closer to his stomach and thus his heart. I can give him an ultimatum to choose between roti and tramezzini, chutney and peri peri, dhaniya and oregano,thandai and wine! That should communicate the message loud and clear.

Hot tears are definitively a bad alternative to hot curry at dinnertime and my husband’s mind was racing to find suitable means to prevent the ever filled dam in my eyes from overflowing and drowning the rest of his evening in their barrage. He starts by saying that he completely understands (while thinking- Help! I just don’t understand). He then mumbles that moves can be challenging especially for wives who have left their family and friends behind and need to start all over again and how he will be okay if I wish to visit India more frequently. Hell, he would even try to take leave immediately and plan an impromptu vacation to soothe my nerves and take me shopping for guess what- shoes........the one solution to all problems! Now it is my turn to reciprocate with the “what the hell are you talking about” look. Firstly, I have lovely friends here thank you. Secondly, why would I want to travel 15 hrs with a six year old and go to India more often- I am just back after a 3 week visit. Finally, why would someone always making fun of my Imelda Marcos-ish shoe obsession propose getting more pairs when I seek help for stopping the already humungous pile from crushing me under? And to think women are considered more irrational!

Finally we resort to what we MBA’s do better- communication through unambiguous almost bullet pointed statements and questions. He asks “please spell out what you would want me to do”. I promptly reply “I would want you to buy me more cupboards and drawers and put up more shelves and racks”. The sheer joy, the unmitigated relief in his whole body language would be visible from miles and since I was only inches away from him, even my super myopic vision could not miss it. My husband suddenly saw the huge ominous cloud lift from his career and drilling holes to put up shelves was a really small price to pay. He laughs and says “my budding writer, please have mercy on my heart beat and get your grammar right next time by ever so kindly inserting the super important more in I need space!!!”

(Not so) Humble Housewife

“Hi I am Steve, I am a publisher, and you?” Is this how strangers meet these days? Aren’t such introductions patented by The Alcoholics Anonymous (Hi I am Steve, I am an alcoholic)? I shifted to Johannesburg, South Africa recently courtesy my husband, a marketer with a MNC (yes, I am a very fast learner!) and as a result, meet new people almost on a daily basis. Thus it is no surprise that I hear myself mouthing the words “I am a housewife” quite often.  Ahem ‘HOUSEWIFE’. Yes, that humble and ancient synonym of more widely accepted and even more widely used terms like ‘home maker’ which for some strange reason always makes me think of a household appliance called rice- maker or the more adorable term ‘stay at home mom’ because that would be a blatant lie- we are never home, what with driving the kids to school and fetching them back, rushing from play dates to swimming/karate/soccer classes, hunting for the right pyjama for the story evening or the right costume for Halloween. Many words have strong pictorial associations- like Playboy- Bunny, Marlboro- Cowboy, White vest-Bruce Willis, Bare Chest- Salman Khan, Housewife-...................no crisp clear picture here. What one does usually envision is a demure plain faced woman, modestly dressed, perhaps with a napkin/broom/dish/clothes in her hand, a little tired, a little bored. But it gives me great pleasure to dispel this common yet incorrect notion and paint a whole new picture of the humble housewife albeit of the hybrid variety- the Expat Housewife.

I have reasonably hectic days and the words “coffee mornings” have assumed great relevance in my life. No sooner had I shifted than I started meeting lovely ladies who had been in the profession of being expat wives for periods much longer than I had been in the profession of being even a wife. I was welcomed with open arms into open air cafes and warm camaraderie brewed over umpteen cups of at best warm cappuccinos. I exchanged doing Yoga in the morning to doing coffee now. As a result, my waistline and friendships blossomed at equal pace. But a whole range of clothing has been dedicated to the issues of the waist- the empire waistlines, the wrap around dress, the flared bottom pants- but there is no cure for being lonely. So, coffeeholics anonymous please wait as addicted to coffee I shall stay.

Being a considerably fair (by disposition, not complexion, but that I shall dwell on some other time) and impartial person, I cannot favour one beverage over the other and even moderate patriotism demands that I give equal respect and thus time to our national drink- the tea. So we come to the delectable ‘Tea Parties’. No we don’t have geishas or kimonos or people kneeling in bamboo huts but every once in a while, we do have some Japanese guests. It is one big happy expat family after all. And then there is the plethora of options to choose from- green tea, Chinese green tea, herbal tea, tulsi tea, tulsi and lemon tea, tulsi lemon and ginger tea, Ceylon tea, Assam tea, Darjeeling tea, Earl Grey tea, Rooibos tea, Five Seasons Tea, English Breakfast tea, with sugar, with lemon, with milk, it is almost like a tea encyclopaedia. Amidst all the splendour, which I do relish, my heart does sometimes miss the simple pleasure in saying “bhaiya ek chai” (brother one tea) and getting a standardised steaming hot cup of tea served in a jiffy in my hostel canteen,but then ‘bhaiya’ would have to be a Mensa scholar to manage the above mentioned options!

Human beings are considered to be the most adaptable creatures on earth and as any competitive Indian I have always aimed at being exemplary in this aspect too. It also serves as a very handy personality trait considering my husband’s quest to live in as many cities as possible in one lifetime. So how could I not devote myself to acquiring, developing and fine tuning the taste for wine- which must be the national drink of my current country South Africa.  Ever respectful of all cultures, I had to get accustomed to the fact that here almost all activities either start or end with wine.......well to think of it, drinking wine is the primary activity in most cases, the secondary roles are filled by mundane tasks like parent-teacher meetings, visits to national monuments, attending graduation ceremonies or marriages or funerals just to name a few. Even at my new book club, the zeal with which we pick up books  that will enlighten, entertain, keep our faculties’ razor sharp, and keep us abreast with the latest in the world around us  is only surpassed by our zeal for picking up of long stemmed glasses. We are very inclusive and accommodating bunch of people and welcome all genres from fiction to biographies, chic lit to literature, thrillers to self help, science fiction to management, chardonnay to cabernet sauvignon, rose’ to pinotage, merlot to chenin blanc with open arms and open lips. This certainly has a very exalted place in my quest for Maslow’s highest order i.e. self actualisation and of course I am talking about the books!

Everyone always congratulates my husband on having such an accommodating wife who has sacrificed her career for the welfare of the family. Well, this role does come with its own set of challenges and juggling and choosing amongst so many options is quite a complex task! But I would definitely wonder if anyone still wanted to question why I would choose to be a mere housewife? Thank you dear husband for giving me a house and making me a wife and sorry I will have to end now as I have to rush- it is another hectic morning. Cheers!

IT IS A RELATIVE WORLD

Let us speak about some weighty issues today. No I am not referring to the debate raging across the world as to why only a European should head the IMF or even closer home, should we support Baba Ramdev by doing yoga or by fasting or by supporting his fast. Weighty issues as in literally speaking, but any woman worth her weight will agree with the magnanimity of this. I have always had some issue or the other with my weight. Okay, I am not even suggesting that I am unique. I am merely sharing my story.

As a child I was too thin. No I am neither trying to be cheeky nor am I being horribly rude to all obese adults who, as rotten luck could have it, were also obese children. Please stop sniggering, this term is possible (visualise Kareena Kapoor in Tashan). I was so cadaverous that my shoulder bones jutted out through my school blazer and if we all remember how heinously coarse and heavy those blazers used to be, it should speak volumes to substantiate my claims. My parents would actually give me medicines to induce hunger during my vacations in valiant attempts to make me gain some weight. Their drug assisted efforts soon paid dividends and come adolescence the struggle unfaithfully switched sides from gain to loss. My bulging waistline was having a nasty teenage rebellious mind of its own and was completely disdainful of all my efforts to tame it. As I grew older and wiser, I had a Buddha like awakening and realised that the quest for perfection is indeed futile. Inspiration may come from strange quarters- mine came from the harsh world of relative grading in my Business School. My martyr like Fs and the Ds in various Finance and Statistic papers were not in vain- it helped me make one of the most ego satisfying decisions of my life.

Some months back, my husband was evaluating two offers at work- one involved shifting to South Korea and the other to South Africa. Well ‘South’ being common to both, I am not too sure many other Indians would have decided between Korea and Africa the way I did. If I was a little plump in India, I would be a balloon in Korea- what with their petite waists, gorgeously thin toned legs, always appropriately encased in ultra short shorts, shiny silky hair that could be cut in any fashion irrespective of what they did or did not do to camouflage double chins and those slender arms.....no ways.....South Korea was out. So what if it ranks 12^th in the Human Development Index and South Africa was 110^th. Different humans have different needs. And boy am I glad I chose what I did. Yes it could be serendipity. Yes, yes it could be because of more exhaustive and  some would feel definitely more rational judgement of my husband taking into account trivialities like career growth, compensation, work life balance etc etc. Irrespective of the means, the end was what I had desired. 

 South Africa seems to be the land of plenty- from the crime all around to the gigantic portions of food served in restaurants! However much I may hog, I am yet to finish a dish, from salads to steaks, from pizzas to pastas by myself. In all my adult life never before have I had the dual satisfaction of binging to my heart’s content and still not appearing to a plebeian glutton who has polished off her plate with the last morsel of bread. Also, what holds true for food holds even truer for drink! I have taken to ordering semi sweet white wine, which true to the ample nature here, is served not in a glass but  in a carafe’ and I can sip to my heart’s content even without having to order a repeat.  

I am above five feet tall and do weigh more than fifty kilos (as this is no scientific paper, I don’t see the need to get into the nitty gritties of exact details), but again my ego is boosted every once in a while here when I am termed as tiny. Especially my wrists as was evident when I went to buy bracelets. And then I went to buy stockings- I was looking for size XS or S but rack after rack I was confronted with L, XL, XXL. Industriously, I kept looking and finally saw SL- well, the S was what I was looking for, but what was the L doing with the S? In my desperation, I almost bought it until, my eyes caught the words Super Large- larger than L but smaller than XL! Everything that everyone buys is almost certainly made in China but for me rescue came in the form of a Chinese shop selling stuff that the Chinese themselves use much to the irritation of my fellow shoppers who were left wondering if they had suddenly bloated or had everything else shrunk around them.

I would be lying if I said that I was not loving these problems- am sure my ego will come crashing back to earth in amchi Mumbai soon! The contrasts are plentiful starting with 1500 sq feet luxurious apartment versus the 2500 sq ft cute and cosy little house here with a patio and a garden. It really is a relative world, but I am fortunate enough to enjoy the best of both worlds right now- junk jewellery that fits my wrists from Mumbai and giant burgers that fit my appetite from Joburg........Burp!