Do you know what you are doing?

Someone dear to me once confessed that, for them, reading my blogs was the easiest way to find out what was on my mind that week. Touché.  At parties, I have had random people walk up to me and tell me that they read my blog and/or forward it to their friends and family overseas. I am grateful to everyone who takes out the time to indulge my “Rants of the week,” but it also makes me conscious of what I post. Not the honesty in my tone but some of the topics I discuss. I concede that I can’t control who reads what and how they interpret my words, but I can control what I post. Normally, as a writer, I wouldn’t care about people’s opinions on my thoughts; but as a marketer, if it affects my professional life, I can’t afford to be apathetic. For instance, I might blog about my disenchantment with the heartlessness of corporate America, from a social and philosophical point of view, but I would never divulge details about my own workplace. That’s asking for trouble.

Talking about sharing. I have always wondered about people who friend their coworkers, on Facebook, and permit them to see every ounce of information on their profile. Unless you implicitly trust these coworkers, all I want to ask is “Really?” Because not all coworkers are friends. Everyone has a paycheck to earn and a butt to save, so why would they think twice before outing you? Someone I know had called in sick the other day. Their so called dear friend (colleague) showed me this person’s status update on Facebook. Guess what? This “sick” person was vacationing on sandy beaches in Mexico and not lying in bed, at home, with a fever. Funnily, the tattle tale couldn’t resist the urge to comment on their “sick” friend’s status update or fill me with details. So much for friendship. 

I know of people who were asked to delete their Myspace page and Facebook accounts, by their employers, because they didn’t have the maturity to channel the flow of information from their brain to their fingertips. Be it posting about their company’s new product, before the launch, or their drunk-at-4a.m-with-a stranger-in-a-bar pictures, they lacked the maturity of who saw what. Seriously, there are “privacy settings” options that Facebook allows. Embrace it. It’s free. Your boss doesn’t need to know about your weekend escapades.

Another element of social networking that boggles my mind is the dissipating boundaries between generations. At least for South Asians, we grew up with a culture of discreetness and boundaries. There are certain deeds South Asian elders won’t commit in front of their younger generation and vice-versa. I don’t think there is anything wrong with it. That’s the essence of what we are about. But all of a sudden, with the liberated social media, the human eye is inflicted with an overdose of personal information. It’s progressive to have an intellectual debate or respectfully joke with people from the older or younger generation, but sharing your inappropriate Halloween pictures doesn’t put you in the suave category! Aunts and uncles and parents witnessing their kids’ semi-nude photos and commenting on them is revolting. One can be friendly with the younger or older generation and vice-versa but not become best friends with them because it is weird and unhealthy. Go out and socialize with people your own age. Get a life!

Quite frankly, I like people’s ability to possess multiple personalities: One for work, one for your friends, and one for your family. These are different facets of you that cater to different aspects of your life. I am not about lying, but I don’t think everyone in my life needs to know how I spend every moment of my day. Every relationship has its own special place and information can be channelized accordingly. And for those emulating and blaming the west, grow up. Cultured and educated people, universally, know the art of communication and perils of information over-share.

More until next time.

Xoxo

 

Copyright © 11.05.2009

“Breathe. Know that the Internet has no eraser.” - Liz Strauss

Do dreams have to vanish when you open your eyes?

As I settle back into reality, which hasn't been a piece of cake after two blissful weeks in the company of my true self, like-mindedness, dreams, peace, gourmet food, and words, my brain is teased with thoughts and unanswered questions. I spent the first few days, upon my return, in trance. The noise surrounding me was like the drums playing in the background - persistent yet rhythmic, but I was unfettered. But last night, after a long day at work, when I got into the subway, I felt my New York-nerves tighten around my neck. As I ran to get through the semi - open doors, survival instincts kicked. My patience and pleasantness became the subway-rodents' feast. The vulture in my eyes hunted for seats. I heard my conscience murmur, cautiously, to me: The “beeatch” is back.

In my defense, the philosopher in me was bludgeoned by a wailing child and an indignant vendor selling candy on the subway. But here is the thing: Fifteen days ago, the same behavior wouldn’t have bothered me as much. I secretly wouldn't have wanted to call the cops on “untraditional” commuters or roll my eyes at human cacophony. So, what was it? Can a change in place alter human responses to such an extreme degree? Or was it time for a reality check on what keeps me happy?

A friend, who is originally from Pittsburgh, said that NYC has made her mean. She can feel it. So, one day, she would like to get in touch with her true self but that would require relinquishing the hub nub of the Big Apple. Sadly, she knows that the move is a distant dream and might always remain one. I understand where she comes from. On the other hand, I know a few dear ones (Sending tons of best wishes their way. I am so proud of them!) who have decided to take the risk. They will take the plunge and follow their dream because we live just once. They are fortunate to have recognized their true desires and have the guts to abandon the monotony of “required-to-do.” I admire their attitude: If it all works out, great; if it doesn’t, they’ll go back to where they came from, metaphorically speaking.

In the end, does it help to know what works best for you even when you know that you probably can't follow through with it or does ignorance work better? What you don't know can't hurt, right? And if you do know what you want to do with the rest of your life (or at least give it a shot, temporarily) but pragmatism becomes your prison-anklet and doesn’t permit you to follow your dreams, can you ever live happily? Will the regret of knowing but never trying, whether your dreams would have worked, ever stop gnawing at you?

More until next time.
Xoxo

Copyright © 10.22.2009


“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” Oscar Wilde

All good things come to an end

Wise people say, when you are having fun, time flies by. That’s exactly what happened. Sigh! My two-week writer’s residency finishes today. It was like yesterday that I almost threw up my breakfast on an eight-seat propeller plane, thanks to fear-stricken fellow passengers, who continued to read the safety manuals loudly—in case our plane crashed into the water. Ironically, sometimes, death could be a better option than neurotic travelers. You can tell it’s time to be in New York; the cynic in me is back.

I was talking to a very dear friend of mine the other day, and she asked me why I hadn’t blogged about my stay in Martha’s Vineyard yet. I asked her if she was a masochist. Wasn’t My Facebook presence already inundating her life?J Jokes aside, I have some good news. I pitched the idea, of my experience in Martha’s Vineyard, to a publication. Guess what? Just a few days ago, they accepted my piece, and it will be published in the first quarter of 2010. Though I can’t, legally, write anything much about my experience on this beautiful island, but I will make a suggestion: Plan a trip to this place. Words don’t do justice to what Martha’s Vineyard has to offer. People here look content. If Martha’s Vineyard was its own country, and if a survey, to determine patriotism levels, was conducted, I am a hundred percent sure, this island would win by a landslide. Smitten, like a cult, is the term that comes to mind when you think of the Vineyarders.

It’s the only small town/island where I didn’t miss a big city. Maybe there is magic in the water. Who knows! Well, there is impressive amount of money here for sure. And legacies. And mansions. And a pot that brews creativity.

After today, as we all move on with our lives (I get into the Diwali-party mode), I wonder what we take back with us. I can’t speak for others, but I know the friendships, the memories, the recipes, the sharing, the caring, and the weight gain will remain me with forever. Hopefully, not the weight gain bit.:-)

So, stay tuned! I will post the link, of our video interview, on my blog once I have it. Attached are a copy of the write-up and event announcement in the local newspapers.

More when real life takes over as I reach New York City. Happy Diwali to those of you celebrating!

 

More until next time.

Xoxo

Copyright © 10.15.2009

 

“Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing” – Oscar Wilde

 

Reincarnation: Traveling with “Masala Chai” and “Maggi Noodles”

Some of you know that I got accepted, at a writers' residency program, in New England. I am going away for two weeks. My husband teases me every time we talk about the opportunity and calls it my "vacation." Hello, not worrying about work deadlines or cleaning for two weeks or guiltlessly drinking wine mid-week or writing endlessly doesn't qualify this defined period of time as “vacation.” Or maybe it does. We’ll find out!

I am looking forward to the residency. I have to say I was a little skeptical about taking two weeks off from work and life in NYC. But my husband very generously said, “You deserve this break more than anyone else I know.” For once, the planetary arrangements worked in my favor and I was able to make this commitment.

Anyways, he thinks by Sunday of this week I will be whining: “I want to go home.” I wouldn't be surprised if my dad and brother along with my husband have placed dibs on the Sweta-missing- home-deadline:-) Well, they all know me too well. Firstly, I loathe bucolic life. No kidding. The peace and quiet makes me nauseous. If you want to scare me, say “Hills.” I have never been able to appreciate houses, for more than a weekend, on five acres of land and no passer bys. Secondly, I am a homebody who is rather resistant to change. I need my family, friends, and wine, and I am all set.

And traveling has its own challenges. I spent last afternoon exchanging emails with my friends and asking them about travel essentials. See, I am flying to New England, which means I have to obey airline weight restrictions - twenty pounds (I believe). That's what I am allowed or at least that’s the weight my back can endure. As a kid, my brother lugged my luggage (I just opened a can of worms here. Let’s not even get into what all I would travel with as a child) and as an adult, my husband does the good deed. In fact, when we travel together, the forty pound weight limit is distributed rather intelligently: I use up 35 lbs and he happily makes do with 5 lbs. I know, “happily” is over-rated, but he’s smart enough to know that a “Happy wife” is the key to every successful marriage. :-)

I digress; back to packing. So, according to my friends, boots fall under "high-priority" essentials. I concur with them. Ask any woman. Okay, any woman with good (or even remote) fashion sense. Fine. Ask any of my girlfriends, and I swear they will tell you that life, for a woman, is barren without knee-length boots. The whole point of autumn is to bring out the hidden fashionista in you. Boots, scarves, good hair days etc. All in all, sweet! Sure, the winter lurking around the corners is not an attraction, but who cares when you can strut yourself in shoes that hug tightly around your calves and ankles and arm your hands with steaming cappuccino. The magic of autumn. So, last night, my boots found a home in those 20 lbs.

Now those wardrobe essentials are taken care of, onto food. Until a few years ago, I could eat every meal out. In fact, I would look forward to it, but with age, I have started appreciating home cooked meals. I still LOVE to eat out (I am a foodie!), but with the desire of trying out a new place or cuisine and not because there is no food at home. A confession: I need Asian food once a week, at least. Not Indian, anything Asian would do (especially Thai & Chinese). My palate goes into withdrawal-symptom-mode otherwise.

I don’t know much about the place I am traveling to—in terms of “grocery” availability, which would have been immaterial a few years ago. I would have happily gorged onto local goodies and eaten every meal at a restaurant. But when my friend asked last afternoon if I had packed any “soul food,” I got thinking. I totally bought her suggestion of carrying some comfort food with me – “Maggi noodles,” “Knorr desi soups,” and “Murku.” Funnily, these items will never be found in my pantry, but I bought them because I know they will make me less homesick. I have been a boarder majority of my life, and I know the magic items.

Growing up, I wondered about people who traveled with food. My husband and brother have constantly made fun of the “Food-travelers-with-dabbas.” But today, I am one of them. I’d never imagined turning into one, but I have. People change and age is a change enabler. With age, we all need things that soothe our soul. So, instead of getting my nails done after work and grabbing a nice meal with my husband at a restaurant last night, I bought chicken biryani for lunch (I am quite indifferent to lunch otherwise); drank “masala chai” at a very dear friend’s place after work; and, cooked a lavish dinner at home (tons of food for my husband when I am away).

So, please send me your good wishes and aashirwaad and love, so I can put these two weeks to good use along with the”Masala chai” sachets I am carrying with me. And I’ll remember to not snicker at the smell of “theplaas” at airports.

More until next time.

Xoxo



Copyright © 10.01.2009


"We live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities" - Oscar Wilde

Small-mindedness: One of life’s biggest tragedies

Last week’s blog post evoked an interesting, variety of responses - a revealing ride into human mindsets. We all know that it takes all sorts to make the world. And I feel that everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. My parents have always said, “Personal experiences and conscience influence how people express themselves in any situation.” I couldn’t agree more.

Constructive criticism is key to growth. To be honest, my “curious” gray cells would perish, if I didn’t get alternative viewpoints, in a civil fashion. No one knows everything and nobody in the world can always be right. Only a schmuck can afford to believe that they know best. And, as clichéd as it may sound, there are two sides to a coin—meaning two perspectives, at a minimum, on any given issue. To remain grounded and to evolve, we all need intelligent and honest people around us, who can expose us to an angle different from what’s integral to our own belief system.

That said, as a writer, what I took away most, from my blog last week, was a revelation: How fortunate am I to be blessed with a family that is open-minded – on both my side and my husband’s side. These are people who have nurtured astuteness and encouraged inquisitiveness. My family has always been cognizant of the knowledge-hungry, philosophical, sociological, and human rights activist side of me. I, almost never, accept what’s presented to me unless it’s backed with logic and reasoning. At the same time, I have been taught to NEVER discard the garb of respect while expressing my curiosity.

When my brother and I were kids, he would tease me that I should wear a chain around my neck with either a mini dictionary or an encyclopedia as a pendant. That way I could find answers, to my umpteen questions, in moments. ☺ I remember, even as a pre-teenager, this one time, I was extremely upset to find out that one of my widowed aunts had to give up non-veg after her husband passed away. Not because she wanted to but because the society expected her to. Really? Like eating meat would translate to her mourning any less? It seemed iniquitous, so I discussed it with my parents. My father patiently answered my questions and conceded that the system was insipid, but in the same breadth he explained the expectations of the Indian society and why this ritual was carried out. By the way, respect was never lost in this communication. Neither did my parents think, that as a person from the younger generation, I had no right (or mental capacity) to question the norm nor did I express my disagreement, with the societal rules, in a discourteous fashion.

To me, the world would be a mundane place, if there was no desire to know more. How do you progress if people were mentally content with what was presented to them? Homo sapiens are where we are today because few of our ancestors weren’t satisfied with what they had. And thank you for not accepting what you had and thinking progressively! If Steve Jobs hadn’t thought of revolutionizing the available technology and inventing chic Apple products, the world would have never known what an iPod or MacBook Air feel like (As an ardent Apple devotee, the one fact I can tell you is that they are divine!)

I am deeply indebted to my family for cultivating a non-judgmental and sound outlook. It helps me remain objective through a lot of situations. I know that intimidation and fear can’t earn you respect and neither can, “Do it because I told you so.” When my ten and seven-year old nieces say something, I hear them out and don’t dismiss their stance just because they are decades younger than I am. In fact, I learn a lot from them because their side represents their generations’ viewpoint. It nudges me to think beyond what I know or have experienced. My father has always taught me that everyone has something to share so hear him or her out. Age, gender, race, and class shouldn’t be used as a discriminating factor against opinion.

More until next time.

Xoxo



Copyright © 09.17.2009

“I am not young enough to know every thing” - Oscar Wilde

How can we feel guilty when you started it?

When I was working on my master’s thesis at Columbia University, I did extensive research on the dynamics of “empty-nest syndrome,” amongst Indian parents whose children live abroad. Empty-nest syndrome is the name given to a psychological condition that can affect a woman around the time that one or more of her children leave home. [1] For women in their 50s and above in India, the syndrome affects a little more adversely because majority of women from my parents’ generation were housewives. They were trained to take care of their homes and families. Most of them took a great deal of pride in what they cooked for their families or the crochet pieces they made for their furniture or the blooming roses in their garden. 

But time flies. Children grow up and husbands get more involved with their career. With husbands still busy and kids away, the same women begin to feel redundant. The basic duties and acts that made them feel important their entire lives, in some ways, diminish with age. The children don’t need their moms in the ways their mothers would like to be needed. All of a sudden, the women have too much time on their hands and an underutilized brain. And this is when things begin to go downhill. The expectations begin.

Every family is different, and I feel blessed for not facing certain pressures, but I have very dear friends who are constantly emotionally blackmailed about living away from India. Every phone call to India translates into, “You should move back now.” Again, this pressure has nothing to do with parental health issues or any tragedies back home (THANK GOD!); it’s about the women in the older generation feeling forlorn. But weren’t you the ones who sent your children abroad? So why do you call your own children selfish? Why did you teach them to dream or aspire if you wanted to dictate their date of departure and return? Is the guilt of creating “nuclear families” catching up with you now that you are at the receiving end?

I am honestly baffled. In some ways, isn’t all this solitude self-invited? Wasn’t it my parents generation that adapted the concept of “nuclear families” and held it close to their heart like the sacred testament? Didn’t their generation popularize “Hum Do Hamaare Do?” In their youth, they left their families behind in small towns and villages and moved to bigger cities and sometimes countries to find opportunities. Why? Because every generation wants to provide the generation after theirs with the best. They wanted to make a better life for themselves and desired to give the best to their children. And we all express our gratitude for it.

I cannot emphasize enough that I am not blaming anyone here. I am trying to understand the altered outlook of the people, who started the trend of moving away, in search of a break. Why is my age group expected to feel culpable for following in the footsteps of their elders? Aren’t we doing what we saw growing up - working towards a good life, so we can provide for the family back home and for our children?  The deed remains unchanged, so don’t call us avaricious and yourself as the sacrificial goat. If anything, my generation keeps the parents more involved than they ever could with their own families.

At the time when our parents were starting their lives, technology wasn’t on their side, so they weren’t able to communicate with their families back home for weeks and sometimes months. Lot of people didn’t even have telephones at homes while my generation, irrespective of their family's location, talks to them a few times a week. Technology allows being able to see each other too! And enables the ability of being involved in each other’s day-to-day activities.

Today, the only difference is that geographic boundaries have dissipated so instead of moving from Bareilly to Mumbai, the move might be from New Delhi to California or London.  It’s the same action; just a different generation. Don’t call it abandonment when we do it and sacrifice when you did it.

More until next time.
Xoxo

Copyright © 09.10.2009

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes, they forgive them.” Oscar Wilde quotes

---

[1] http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/womenshealth/features/ens.htm

Are we killing our parents?

No culture is perfect. It’s up to us, as individuals, to pick and choose the best elements representative of the east and the west. For instance, I respect most of the values of the east and cherish the feeling of familial-bondage. In the same breath, I also admire how age isn’t a deterrent for any dreams in the west, and I am beginning to appreciate what the west teaches you about dependency.

I am reading a book by Daniel Gilbert called “Stumbling on Happiness.” The author mentions an interesting study in which elderly folks, at a local nursing home, were given a houseplant and divided into two groups. Half the residents were told that they were in control of the plant’s care and feeding (high-control group), and they told the remaining residents that a staff would be responsible for their plant (low-control group).

End result: Six months later, 30% of the residents in the group with lower control died compared with only 15% of their counterparts with high control much sooner than their counterparts in the low-control group. According to the study described by the author: “Human beings come in to this world with a passion for control, they go out of the world the same way, and research suggests that if they lose their ability to control thing at any point between their entrance and exit, they become unhappy, helpless, hopeless, and depressed.”

I don’t get why kids treat their parents and their parents’ generation as old. Sometimes I understand the feelings behind their emotions, but I still don’t get it. People start giving their parents permissions and disallowing them certain acts because they think it’s not safe for them. And why, because they feel they are getting old. Caring is one thing but overdoing it by treating them like invalids, even if unintentionally, is another. Respecting your elders doesn’t mean you have to map their lifestyle for them. It bothers me when my generation decides when they can start telling their parents what’s best for them. Or constantly obsess about how they need attention and their health is failing. And most of us don’t even live with them. Who gave us that right? A friendly reminder: Our parents are older than us and like it or not, they are entitled to their decisions. And the repercussions of those decisions.

A substantial number of my husband’s aunts and uncles live in the west. Knock on wood; they are all agile and so in tune with the world. They understand and participate in what their children are doing. They have an opinion on what Iran’s policies are or whether Obama was the right choice for the presidency. And shouldn’t it be that way? Their children don’t treat them like old or constantly remind them that they are dependent. Society expects them to chip in with their bit and reminds them age is a state of mind. They are sixty plus people working jobs, managing homes, social lives, and family and all with minimum support. I swear, they look ten years younger than their relatives, of the same age or younger, back in India. They know they are important and age has nothing to do with their desires or dreams.

And how do you define old? To me, anything below 75-80, isn’t old. In our Indian culture, when we make people dependent on ourselves, aren’t we insinuating they aren’t self –sufficient? Why keep suggesting they need to relax and calm down? It’s their life and if they want to go parasailing at seventy, who are we to stop them?

I loathe conversations that center around treating parents as six-year olds. I am sorry, I refuse to. My parents will always be my parents. I will always argue with my father and get into cultural debates because I always have. What’s changed today? That he’s older than sixty? So I should watch what I say? Baloney! The day I stop being his child and start to act as his parent, it’ll perish him. Of course, as my parents get older, (so do I), I feel more compassionately towards them. Endearing maybe but not sympathetic because there is nothing to commiserate. Age is nothing to be mourned. Do we not realize that we stifle their existence by smothering them with our fear? Fear of losing them. In the process, we kill them even before they die. I know, even at my age, when I am sick and people nag me to do things, it aggravates me. Neither am I stupid nor am I ignorant. I understand my responsibility towards myself and the people in my life so don’t treat me like I don’t have a brain of my own. What makes you think our parents feel any differently?

More until next time.
Xoxo

Copyright © 09.03.2009


"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." ~Mark Twain