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!!!”