Sunday, June 14, 2009
Back from Heaven!
Sorry for no blog posts last Thursday and thanks for the sweet notes saying you missed my rants. I was in Chicago, at a literary festival, as one of the panelists. I will blog about the event, in details, this coming week as a snippet wouldn't do justice to this spectacular event. In the meantime, if you'd like, browse through http://www.desilit.org/kriti.php for the event details.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Mind Your Own Business
We live in an over communicated world where most people feel entitled to an opinion on just about anything. “Have mouth; must speak.” Nothing wrong with expressing what’s on your mind but in a civilized society, there have to be parameters. What happened to “Live and let live?” Two people don’t have to agree on the same issue or feel the exact same way to co-exist in this society. Mutual respect should be enough to tide us through life.
So, where is my sarcasm stemming from? Most of you must have read or heard about the California Supreme Court’s stance on same-sex marriages. Up until now, I haven’t really written about the “trials and triumphs” of the gay community because my blog posts are opinions based on my experiences. I wondered if I would do true justice to an issue that I truly have no real knowledge about. But the California incident made me upset, as a human, and gave me the reason to embrace malignant honestitis, grab my verbal megaphone, and rant.
A simple question: As humans, what is our problem? Why do we feel so threatened by anyone who is different from us? Someone said to me the other day, “But how can two men be together? Yuck! It’s unnatural.” I was baffled both by the candidness and the undertone of bigotry. So, it’s politically inappropriate to bring up “color” and “race” in social settings, but it’s okay to openly condemn same-sex marriage? Why the double standards?
Let’s get real: We all like to believe that marriages last forever, but statistics and real world stories show that a marriage between man and woman doesn’t always translate to “forever and ever.” As an example, look at the divorce rate in America. Research says that forty or fifty percent of marriages might end in divorce if the current trend continues. The divorce rates in India might be lower than America, but it's on the rise. Up until a few years ago, at least for Indians, divorce was something that happened to a friend’s friend’s acquaintance; but today, separations have penetrated our inner circle of friends. So, it’s okay for us heteros to get wedded and then annul the nuptials but not acceptable for same-sex couples to enter into matrimony? Hmm. Why don’t we work on our own lives and save our relationships before lashing out at someone else’s preferences?
According to the religious pundits and the constitution, “Marriage is the union between a man and a woman.” Maybe so, but I am unsure how and why the state or the church get involved in someone’s life choices. Do they tell us heterosexuals whom we can or can’t marry? Do these people, who serve God (in any religion), really hold everything written in the religious books sacred to their heart? If that were the case, we wouldn’t have pedophiles in places of worship. Or what about these cases of schoolteachers raping minors or sports coaches molesting malleable minds?
I have heard a lot of straight guys confess that they are paranoid about gay dudes hitting on them. Talk about being full of yourself. The whole thought process reeks of ignorance and absurdity--and maybe a little sanctimonious. Do these heterosexuals hit on every single member of the opposite sex? I hardly think so. If in the hetero world we are picky about whom we befriend, date, and marry, so why assume it’s any different in the gay community? They too are humans with standards.
If I have my numbers right, as of today, there are six states in America that recognize gay marriages. Is it fair that straight people are entitled to freedom of choice (in terms of matrimony) and the gay community isn’t? My plea is that you don’t have to “get” their choices; just let them be. There are enough aspects of life that we don’t understand (For example, I don’t get the art or charm of smoking) but we go about our day out of respect for humanity. Freedom is freedom and should be the same for all.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 06.04.2009
“Tolerance is giving to every other human being every right that you claim for yourself.”- Robert Green Ingersoll
So, where is my sarcasm stemming from? Most of you must have read or heard about the California Supreme Court’s stance on same-sex marriages. Up until now, I haven’t really written about the “trials and triumphs” of the gay community because my blog posts are opinions based on my experiences. I wondered if I would do true justice to an issue that I truly have no real knowledge about. But the California incident made me upset, as a human, and gave me the reason to embrace malignant honestitis, grab my verbal megaphone, and rant.
A simple question: As humans, what is our problem? Why do we feel so threatened by anyone who is different from us? Someone said to me the other day, “But how can two men be together? Yuck! It’s unnatural.” I was baffled both by the candidness and the undertone of bigotry. So, it’s politically inappropriate to bring up “color” and “race” in social settings, but it’s okay to openly condemn same-sex marriage? Why the double standards?
Let’s get real: We all like to believe that marriages last forever, but statistics and real world stories show that a marriage between man and woman doesn’t always translate to “forever and ever.” As an example, look at the divorce rate in America. Research says that forty or fifty percent of marriages might end in divorce if the current trend continues. The divorce rates in India might be lower than America, but it's on the rise. Up until a few years ago, at least for Indians, divorce was something that happened to a friend’s friend’s acquaintance; but today, separations have penetrated our inner circle of friends. So, it’s okay for us heteros to get wedded and then annul the nuptials but not acceptable for same-sex couples to enter into matrimony? Hmm. Why don’t we work on our own lives and save our relationships before lashing out at someone else’s preferences?
According to the religious pundits and the constitution, “Marriage is the union between a man and a woman.” Maybe so, but I am unsure how and why the state or the church get involved in someone’s life choices. Do they tell us heterosexuals whom we can or can’t marry? Do these people, who serve God (in any religion), really hold everything written in the religious books sacred to their heart? If that were the case, we wouldn’t have pedophiles in places of worship. Or what about these cases of schoolteachers raping minors or sports coaches molesting malleable minds?
I have heard a lot of straight guys confess that they are paranoid about gay dudes hitting on them. Talk about being full of yourself. The whole thought process reeks of ignorance and absurdity--and maybe a little sanctimonious. Do these heterosexuals hit on every single member of the opposite sex? I hardly think so. If in the hetero world we are picky about whom we befriend, date, and marry, so why assume it’s any different in the gay community? They too are humans with standards.
If I have my numbers right, as of today, there are six states in America that recognize gay marriages. Is it fair that straight people are entitled to freedom of choice (in terms of matrimony) and the gay community isn’t? My plea is that you don’t have to “get” their choices; just let them be. There are enough aspects of life that we don’t understand (For example, I don’t get the art or charm of smoking) but we go about our day out of respect for humanity. Freedom is freedom and should be the same for all.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 06.04.2009
“Tolerance is giving to every other human being every right that you claim for yourself.”- Robert Green Ingersoll
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Who am I?
When my brother and I were growing up, my mother always said, “With age, your roots call out to you.” Of course, as a teenager, I shrugged her postulation, but today, I concede. She was right. Over the years, I feel the Indian in me has become thirsty and wants to find out about my ancestry. I mean, I know what I was told, but there has to be more. For instance, a little while ago, I found out that Birbal, one of the gems in Mughal emperor Akbar’s court, was a Kayastha— the same core pedigree as mine. I couldn’t care less about the Hindu caste system or religious faith, but I was excited beyond human comprehension about this possible linkage. Birbal’s wit and intelligence is something that I have always been in awe of. I wanted to explore the idea of a possible link between Birbal and my family, if any. But, with no grandparents alive, who do I turn to for anecdotes or the truth behind the family tree?
A couple of weeks ago, I met a young writer, Sadia Shepard at a reading – an intimate group of attendees with a handful of impressive authors. It was one of those evenings that’s embossed permanently on my soul. As Sadia read through pages of her first book, The Girl from Foreign, I instantly knew I wanted to buy her work. Her eloquence had the audience spellbound. Like others present, I too felt a connection but to her quest and desire to seek answers about her heritage. Not to give away the core essence of the book, Sadia grew up with three parents and three religions—a Jewish Indian (by birth)/ Pakistani Muslim (by marriage) maternal grandmother, Nana, a Pakistani Muslim mother, and a white, Christian father. Post her grandmother's death, to honor her last wishes, Sadia, a Fullbright scholar, spent years in Bombay researching and documenting her Nana’s Bene Israeli heritage. I was impressed by her gesture and feelings towards her grandparent. In some ways, The Girl from Foreign, which I finished in less than two days and totally recommend, made me feel both guilty and jealous.
Guilty: My generation in India mostly grew up in nuclear families with just parents and siblings. Remember the slogan depicting a family of four—“Hum do hamaare do?” There were occasional visits from the grandparents, aunts, and uncles, but it wasn’t like everyone lived under one roof. Despite the changing societal structure, the culture taught you to respect your elders. Respect is one thing but can anyone teach you to feel attached to another human being? Respect and love isn’t one and the same thing. Even though I enjoyed having relatives over and am still close to my cousins, I don’t think I am emotionally dependent on any of them. In her last few years, my father’s mother, dadi , lived with my parents, but I saw her only when I came home for holidays. Even then, I loved her presence and the smell of tradition, but I think it was more respect and less adulation. I didn’t feel any nostalgia when she wasn’t around and even if I did, it was for a few moments. Life went on.
Sometimes I wonder if my emotions have a pragmatic equation because I grew up in hostels. I live by “It is what it is.” But then I spoke with other friends, who grew up at home, and it seems a significant number of people from my generation lack that devotion and fire that Sadia felt towards her grandmother.
Jealous: My husband’s attachment to his paternal grandparents, Baba and Dadi, is somewhat similar to Sadia Shephard’s to her Nana. My husband spent his formative years with his paternal grandparents. They taught him to walk, ride the bicycle, and solve math problems. I distinctly remember the first time we went back to India on vacation; we visited my husband’s Baba and Dadi before we flew to Bombay to meet his own parents. I was shocked yet enamored by his actions because I didn’t grow up with that passion like him or Sadia, for the extended family. Actually, both of them aren’t the norm but a pleasant minority.
When my grandparents were alive, I enjoyed their presence but didn’t do justice to their stories. As a writer, I feel guilty for not jotting down my grandparents’ anecdotes; as a human being, I am jealous of anyone, who shares that special bond with their grandparents. See, I don't have the dedication to make my grandparents’ wishes a cause for my life.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.28.2009
"Cynic: a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing" - Oscar Wilde
A couple of weeks ago, I met a young writer, Sadia Shepard at a reading – an intimate group of attendees with a handful of impressive authors. It was one of those evenings that’s embossed permanently on my soul. As Sadia read through pages of her first book, The Girl from Foreign, I instantly knew I wanted to buy her work. Her eloquence had the audience spellbound. Like others present, I too felt a connection but to her quest and desire to seek answers about her heritage. Not to give away the core essence of the book, Sadia grew up with three parents and three religions—a Jewish Indian (by birth)/ Pakistani Muslim (by marriage) maternal grandmother, Nana, a Pakistani Muslim mother, and a white, Christian father. Post her grandmother's death, to honor her last wishes, Sadia, a Fullbright scholar, spent years in Bombay researching and documenting her Nana’s Bene Israeli heritage. I was impressed by her gesture and feelings towards her grandparent. In some ways, The Girl from Foreign, which I finished in less than two days and totally recommend, made me feel both guilty and jealous.
Guilty: My generation in India mostly grew up in nuclear families with just parents and siblings. Remember the slogan depicting a family of four—“Hum do hamaare do?” There were occasional visits from the grandparents, aunts, and uncles, but it wasn’t like everyone lived under one roof. Despite the changing societal structure, the culture taught you to respect your elders. Respect is one thing but can anyone teach you to feel attached to another human being? Respect and love isn’t one and the same thing. Even though I enjoyed having relatives over and am still close to my cousins, I don’t think I am emotionally dependent on any of them. In her last few years, my father’s mother, dadi , lived with my parents, but I saw her only when I came home for holidays. Even then, I loved her presence and the smell of tradition, but I think it was more respect and less adulation. I didn’t feel any nostalgia when she wasn’t around and even if I did, it was for a few moments. Life went on.
Sometimes I wonder if my emotions have a pragmatic equation because I grew up in hostels. I live by “It is what it is.” But then I spoke with other friends, who grew up at home, and it seems a significant number of people from my generation lack that devotion and fire that Sadia felt towards her grandmother.
Jealous: My husband’s attachment to his paternal grandparents, Baba and Dadi, is somewhat similar to Sadia Shephard’s to her Nana. My husband spent his formative years with his paternal grandparents. They taught him to walk, ride the bicycle, and solve math problems. I distinctly remember the first time we went back to India on vacation; we visited my husband’s Baba and Dadi before we flew to Bombay to meet his own parents. I was shocked yet enamored by his actions because I didn’t grow up with that passion like him or Sadia, for the extended family. Actually, both of them aren’t the norm but a pleasant minority.
When my grandparents were alive, I enjoyed their presence but didn’t do justice to their stories. As a writer, I feel guilty for not jotting down my grandparents’ anecdotes; as a human being, I am jealous of anyone, who shares that special bond with their grandparents. See, I don't have the dedication to make my grandparents’ wishes a cause for my life.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.28.2009
"Cynic: a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing" - Oscar Wilde
Thursday, May 21, 2009
(B)rat-remedy
The other day, a friend of mine attended a pre-school admissions workshop, in NYC, for her toddler. Her description of the other mothers (very - Stepford wives) and their inquisitiveness about anyone, who didn’t look like them (They asked my friend which planet she was from), reminded me of a book I recently read--“Schooled” by Anisha Lakhani.
I won’t call Schooled the “World’s Best Book,” but it was inexplicably addictive. The content fell in the following category: Oh- that- makes- me-so- mad-that- I could- just-smack-someone. The book is a younger and opulent version of one of my all time favorite writer, E.R. Braithwaite’s “To Sir with Love”. Schooled, unlike To Sir With Love which is set in mid-60s Britain, is focused on a private school on the Upper East Side in New York City and its covetous kids (and worldly teachers). I cringe every time I think about seventh graders (characters in the book) carrying Chanel bags to school and bemoaning any brand which wasn’t in that league. But, can you truly believe a child is culpable of social ineptness if the parents bringing them up don’t tell them otherwise? Children are a reflection of their own parents. Then again, some parents don’t know better because they haven’t had the exposure themselves. Money and culture don’t always go hand in hand, you know.
What’s the best way to get your hands dirty with real life? I think it’s by living away from home in your formative years. The exact age doesn’t matter, but it is imperative. Folks, who have always lived at home, tend to have sheltered upbringing and almost never had to compromise. It’s not like they are terrible human beings, but they’ve rarely needed to think for others. There are always exceptions to every rule. But, growing up, most families in my generation had two kids so you pretty much got your way. Eating “Tandoori chicken” instead of “Pao Bhaji” because your sister insisted or playing Golf on the Wii instead of Boxing to make your brother happy doesn’t exactly make you Florence Nightingale. In fact, these so-called gestures are a joke for the word “sharing.”
Being away from the paradise of parental love and support teaches you to adjust, accommodate, survive, multi-task, comprehend, and appreciate the smallest of gestures. Like filling up a bucket of hot water for your injured friend and in the process skipping your own bath day, does qualify for real gestures and relationships. If you have always lived at home, getting your way & being spoilt is inevitable; the degrees may vary depending on the parents’ affluence and tolerance. I mean, you meet and become friends with people, who are clones of your own self—a.k.a. your parents’ friends’ offspring. Now that can’t be healthy. It’s like marrying within the family.
Every parent tries to give their own kin the best that they can afford without realizing that they might actually be doing them disservice. Life isn’t about one person or child’s needs. My boarding school rules didn’t permit us to wear anything aside from our boring uniforms, EVER! Sure, the teenager in me loathed their Nazi rules then, but as an adult, I appreciate their thoughtfulness. The authorities knew all of us didn’t come from the same financial background, so while one child had enough money for a silk shirt and designer jeans, the other child could just afford an ordinary shirt. Those values made my friends and me responsible, sensitive, and aware of the world around us. Like, you can’t discuss your Europe vacation with someone who hasn’t stepped out of Bombay or Meirut. Your financial abilities should make you humble and socially conscious instead of asininely ostentatious.
If these children in Schooled or the gauche moms, who expressed their astonishment to see my non-blond friend, were exposed to the real world (a multi-ethnic Diaspora beyond their limited knowledge of existence), they would probably have made for more evolved human beings.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.21.2009
“Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you” – Oscar Wilde
I won’t call Schooled the “World’s Best Book,” but it was inexplicably addictive. The content fell in the following category: Oh- that- makes- me-so- mad-that- I could- just-smack-someone. The book is a younger and opulent version of one of my all time favorite writer, E.R. Braithwaite’s “To Sir with Love”. Schooled, unlike To Sir With Love which is set in mid-60s Britain, is focused on a private school on the Upper East Side in New York City and its covetous kids (and worldly teachers). I cringe every time I think about seventh graders (characters in the book) carrying Chanel bags to school and bemoaning any brand which wasn’t in that league. But, can you truly believe a child is culpable of social ineptness if the parents bringing them up don’t tell them otherwise? Children are a reflection of their own parents. Then again, some parents don’t know better because they haven’t had the exposure themselves. Money and culture don’t always go hand in hand, you know.
What’s the best way to get your hands dirty with real life? I think it’s by living away from home in your formative years. The exact age doesn’t matter, but it is imperative. Folks, who have always lived at home, tend to have sheltered upbringing and almost never had to compromise. It’s not like they are terrible human beings, but they’ve rarely needed to think for others. There are always exceptions to every rule. But, growing up, most families in my generation had two kids so you pretty much got your way. Eating “Tandoori chicken” instead of “Pao Bhaji” because your sister insisted or playing Golf on the Wii instead of Boxing to make your brother happy doesn’t exactly make you Florence Nightingale. In fact, these so-called gestures are a joke for the word “sharing.”
Being away from the paradise of parental love and support teaches you to adjust, accommodate, survive, multi-task, comprehend, and appreciate the smallest of gestures. Like filling up a bucket of hot water for your injured friend and in the process skipping your own bath day, does qualify for real gestures and relationships. If you have always lived at home, getting your way & being spoilt is inevitable; the degrees may vary depending on the parents’ affluence and tolerance. I mean, you meet and become friends with people, who are clones of your own self—a.k.a. your parents’ friends’ offspring. Now that can’t be healthy. It’s like marrying within the family.
Every parent tries to give their own kin the best that they can afford without realizing that they might actually be doing them disservice. Life isn’t about one person or child’s needs. My boarding school rules didn’t permit us to wear anything aside from our boring uniforms, EVER! Sure, the teenager in me loathed their Nazi rules then, but as an adult, I appreciate their thoughtfulness. The authorities knew all of us didn’t come from the same financial background, so while one child had enough money for a silk shirt and designer jeans, the other child could just afford an ordinary shirt. Those values made my friends and me responsible, sensitive, and aware of the world around us. Like, you can’t discuss your Europe vacation with someone who hasn’t stepped out of Bombay or Meirut. Your financial abilities should make you humble and socially conscious instead of asininely ostentatious.
If these children in Schooled or the gauche moms, who expressed their astonishment to see my non-blond friend, were exposed to the real world (a multi-ethnic Diaspora beyond their limited knowledge of existence), they would probably have made for more evolved human beings.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.21.2009
“Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you” – Oscar Wilde
Thursday, May 14, 2009
When did you feel it?
My generation is held culpable for whining about age all the time. It’s true; age and weather predominate our conversations. Maybe we have matured ahead of time due to our lifestyles and work stress. I think, work-life balance is the cruelest myth ever!
Every single time I say, "I am getting old," the older people yell me at. For someone in their fifties or sixties, thirty is the sweet age of opulence and vigor. I am mortified to admit (and bloody proud too) that both my father and mother-in-law are more about joie de vivre than most of my contemporaries.
Well, in some ways I agree with the adage: "You are only as old as you feel." That might be true mentally but on a physical level, equations change. If you are enervated, feelings and perception don’t matter. You can’t function. The other day, a friend in her mid-twenties, confessed that her brain couldn’t perform the basic tasks with just four hours of sleep, three nights in a row. That was the first sign for her. Even an overdose of caffeine betrayed her.
I was talking to my sister-in-law the other day, and she mentioned that at a dinner party at her place, despite a cornucopia of choices, people actually chose to eat salad. Now I know all these beloved folks. Five years ago, the same crowd would have not only alienated the greens and focused on a pure meat and alcohol diet but also ridiculed anyone who even glanced at the healthy options. Mind you, none of these people are over thirty-something yet felt that age had altered their food preferences.
Friends have shared various instances and experiences when they got a little visit from the "Age-Satan." I got a hint of aging (fine, turning thirty actually) when I metamorphosed from a nocturnal party animal into a morning creature. Aside from passing out from fatigue before midnight, I started finding bars too loud and wearing. Lip reading over deafening music doesn’t excite me any more. They got replaced with mood-suiting Mozart pieces and other forms of both western and Indian classical music. Aperitif at chic lounges ousted $5 cocktails, in hideous glasses, at Irish Pubs; often, spending time with intimate set of friends started winning over clubbing. Staying in on a Friday night--wearing PJs and ordering in and watching reruns of The ‘70s Show is our ultimate idea of Friday evening. It’s a luxury, and my husband and I wish we could do it more! A few years ago, I couldn’t imagine anything lamer than no social commitment on a Friday night.
Today, I’m okay with missing an opening night at a new wine bar or a new artistic event, just so I can watch my three nieces on Skype: Discuss "favorite authors" and celebrities with my oldest niece; art & food & dance with my second one; and watch the youngest clap her hands & devour the microphone.
Despite complete apathy towards ornaments, I am willing to discuss jewelry with my mom and mom-in-law on a Sunday morning instead of trying out a new brunch place and washing down the week’s nuance with a cup of freshly brewed cappuccino. My vacation list consists of exquisite time with my family too as opposed to JUST exotic places with my hubby. Up until a few years ago, we would travel every month. No exaggeration there. Ask our bank account; it’s orphaned:-) A confession: At times, clearing up all social commitments for a weekend and soaking in the free time (Oh, so rare) is the best therapy.
So, when was the first time you started feeling you’d aged?
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.14.2009
"The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young" Oscar Wilde
Every single time I say, "I am getting old," the older people yell me at. For someone in their fifties or sixties, thirty is the sweet age of opulence and vigor. I am mortified to admit (and bloody proud too) that both my father and mother-in-law are more about joie de vivre than most of my contemporaries.
Well, in some ways I agree with the adage: "You are only as old as you feel." That might be true mentally but on a physical level, equations change. If you are enervated, feelings and perception don’t matter. You can’t function. The other day, a friend in her mid-twenties, confessed that her brain couldn’t perform the basic tasks with just four hours of sleep, three nights in a row. That was the first sign for her. Even an overdose of caffeine betrayed her.
I was talking to my sister-in-law the other day, and she mentioned that at a dinner party at her place, despite a cornucopia of choices, people actually chose to eat salad. Now I know all these beloved folks. Five years ago, the same crowd would have not only alienated the greens and focused on a pure meat and alcohol diet but also ridiculed anyone who even glanced at the healthy options. Mind you, none of these people are over thirty-something yet felt that age had altered their food preferences.
Friends have shared various instances and experiences when they got a little visit from the "Age-Satan." I got a hint of aging (fine, turning thirty actually) when I metamorphosed from a nocturnal party animal into a morning creature. Aside from passing out from fatigue before midnight, I started finding bars too loud and wearing. Lip reading over deafening music doesn’t excite me any more. They got replaced with mood-suiting Mozart pieces and other forms of both western and Indian classical music. Aperitif at chic lounges ousted $5 cocktails, in hideous glasses, at Irish Pubs; often, spending time with intimate set of friends started winning over clubbing. Staying in on a Friday night--wearing PJs and ordering in and watching reruns of The ‘70s Show is our ultimate idea of Friday evening. It’s a luxury, and my husband and I wish we could do it more! A few years ago, I couldn’t imagine anything lamer than no social commitment on a Friday night.
Today, I’m okay with missing an opening night at a new wine bar or a new artistic event, just so I can watch my three nieces on Skype: Discuss "favorite authors" and celebrities with my oldest niece; art & food & dance with my second one; and watch the youngest clap her hands & devour the microphone.
Despite complete apathy towards ornaments, I am willing to discuss jewelry with my mom and mom-in-law on a Sunday morning instead of trying out a new brunch place and washing down the week’s nuance with a cup of freshly brewed cappuccino. My vacation list consists of exquisite time with my family too as opposed to JUST exotic places with my hubby. Up until a few years ago, we would travel every month. No exaggeration there. Ask our bank account; it’s orphaned:-) A confession: At times, clearing up all social commitments for a weekend and soaking in the free time (Oh, so rare) is the best therapy.
So, when was the first time you started feeling you’d aged?
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 05.14.2009
"The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young" Oscar Wilde
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Burberry on a writer's salary
Every time I go to a creative meet or mingle with fellow ink-scribbling-Mac-loving-day- dreaming humans, I feel, the raw, passionate, frugal artist in me come out alive and slay the worldly corporate creature. If someone measured my aura post those interactions, I promise you, they’d be intrigued by the halo around my heart :-) I enter a state of timeless trance, and everything around becomes a rhythmic yet insignificant blur. For instance, last week when I got home from one such event, my husband asked, “How was the event?” I said, “samosa and wine have never tasted better.” Just so you know, I love samosa and wine individually but not together. But is that sensation enough to make a life-altering decision?
Off late, numerous people have asked me if I wanted to quit my job and become a full-time writer. Here is my response: “I want to but can’t.” Before I say anything further, let me digress and clarify a simple difference between “want” and “can.” Want is a desire that stems from your heart while can & cannot is reality that you see with your eyes. It’s rare for the ‘want’ and the ‘can’ family to dance in unison.
Let’s get real here. Not every writer has the same destiny as Jhumpa Lahiri or the resources of Virginia Wolfe. I am not being a wuss and looking for excuses, but the fact is that becoming a full-time writer today would also mean compromising on things that I really like. It would also mean taking gratuitous risks. It was one thing if I was nineteen and still figuring out my life. I wouldn’t have known any different. Who knows; deprivation might have sounded romantic. But I am not just beginning my life. I am old enough to have distinct tastes (good or bad) and set expectations from life. I love the smell of rustic, quaint bookstores, and Literati Company but in the same breath, I cherish the coffee shops and wine bars near such stores. I am not profligate, but I’d be lying if I said that I don’t care about trying out new restaurants, going on vacations, or purchasing chic items. I mean, designer handbags are my weakness (Who am I kidding? Let’s call it “vice.”). Burberry is my eternal soul mate. But then, I work hard and earn the money for my indulgences.
Here is the question: Even before I consider my case on the scale of want and can, let’s pause and think about the “fairness factor.” Without a fixed income, will I be able to afford the “fine” things” in life? Sure, my soul might feel nourished if I spend eternity in the company of words, but what about my wallet that’s used to a (maybe not fat but dependable) paycheck? As I mentioned earlier, with time and age, we all get set in our own styles. Scaling back is a Herculean task if imposed intentionally. I still might be able to compromise on a few things, but would it be fair to deliberately deprive my family because I decide to go on a whim of self-gratification? To me, it feels a little unjust. And what makes my relationship with words more sanctimonious than my husband’s passions? I have always been outspoken about gender equality, so how is it fair that I get to pursue my dream (without a conscience) with no to negligible return on investment and my husband slaves over reality?
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 04.30.2009
"When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is." - Oscar Wilde
Thursday, April 23, 2009
What would life be without *it*?
A very near and dear one once said to me, “I couldn’t marry someone who wasn’t ambitious. If the person is complacent themselves, how would they understand my ambition and what will they teach the generation after?” With time, I seem to see the reality in the confession.
The other day, a friend called me a true prototype of my Zodiac sign—ambitious. I couldn’t agree more; I am a classic Capricorn and not embarrassed to admit it. My mother’s generation fought and sacrificed so women from my generation could have the freedom we have today, and I refuse to let their efforts go a waste by wearing an excuse of “societal-expectations.” See, one of my close college friend’s mothers is a qualified architect, but her in-laws didn’t allow her to practice architecture because that would mean long hours with strangers (read as “males”). Hmmm. So every woman from her generation, who decided to have a career, was libidinous while the stay-at-home women, with an army of servants and countless free hours on their hands, worshipped their husbands? The silliness didn’t end there; she was “allowed” to teach in a school because that would translate to minimal interaction with the opposite sex yet offer her flexible timing so she could bring home money and put up a spread on the table at meal timings. Her ambition was defined for her, but that was then—a generation ago.
More importantly, the true meaning of ambition doesn’t lie in the ordinary definition of 9-5. Ambition is a flavorful word with several dimensions to it. Here is one aspect of the Merriam-Webster meaning for ambition—“It applies to the desire for personal advancement.” This personal advancement comes from the aspiration to defy mediocrity. It’s that unique quality that makes every human special. A very good friend of mine, who lives in San Diego, could put most women to shame with the kind of stuff she does with her life and family. The list is endless, so I’ll stop, but I did suggest that she start a “What Not to Wear” show targeted towards mothers with appalling taste in style, so they wouldn’t dress their kids like dweebs. That aside, due to her phenomenal desire to defy the ordinary, her four-year old wanted to be taken to a "messy" beach, so that she and her sister could pick up the trash and help clean it up! Did I mention that her seven-year old willingly eats healthy food and rarely even smells junk food? My friend knows her ambition (It’s not a 9-5 corporate ruckus) and is darn good at it. Hmm. Now when I think of it, she too is a Capricorn.:-)
People assume the longer hours you spend at work or the more you travel on business, the more driven you are. And they say it like it’s a crime. Well, for starters, wrong! Some women have to keep longer hours because that’s what their job entails. Then there are women, who work because of financial constraints. I have super-successful corporate friends, who love their families as much as stay-at-home women, but because you can’t have the cake and eat it too, you do what’s required. You can’t say I can do what a man does and then leave things midway because you want to come home and cook or sing a lullaby. The way Mother Nature created us women, you want to be able to put a fresh meal on the table and read a story to your little one, but it can’t all be done. It’s tough and draining, but the inability to do these little things shouldn’t earn the woman insipid comments like, “An ambitious woman can never keep a house happy.” By the same token, just because a woman is always available for her family, doesn’t make her super-competent and compassionate. It’s quality vs. quality. What if she’s too lazy to juggle a work life balance or lacks the drive or confidence or interest to go out in the real world. Again, just because a woman is a stay-at-home person, doesn’t mean she lacks the drive. My friend in San Diego is a classic example. To each his own, but don’t condemn “ambition” like it’s a leper you don’t want to see on the streets.
I want to end my rants with: If your ambition is to cruise through life doing nothing but staying happy the way you are, kudos to you. Do just that because that’s your ambition, and there is nothing wrong with it. Its life without a drive that is tragically sad.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 04.23.2009
“Ambition is the germ from which all growth of nobleness proceeds” - Oscar Wilde
The other day, a friend called me a true prototype of my Zodiac sign—ambitious. I couldn’t agree more; I am a classic Capricorn and not embarrassed to admit it. My mother’s generation fought and sacrificed so women from my generation could have the freedom we have today, and I refuse to let their efforts go a waste by wearing an excuse of “societal-expectations.” See, one of my close college friend’s mothers is a qualified architect, but her in-laws didn’t allow her to practice architecture because that would mean long hours with strangers (read as “males”). Hmmm. So every woman from her generation, who decided to have a career, was libidinous while the stay-at-home women, with an army of servants and countless free hours on their hands, worshipped their husbands? The silliness didn’t end there; she was “allowed” to teach in a school because that would translate to minimal interaction with the opposite sex yet offer her flexible timing so she could bring home money and put up a spread on the table at meal timings. Her ambition was defined for her, but that was then—a generation ago.
More importantly, the true meaning of ambition doesn’t lie in the ordinary definition of 9-5. Ambition is a flavorful word with several dimensions to it. Here is one aspect of the Merriam-Webster meaning for ambition—“It applies to the desire for personal advancement.” This personal advancement comes from the aspiration to defy mediocrity. It’s that unique quality that makes every human special. A very good friend of mine, who lives in San Diego, could put most women to shame with the kind of stuff she does with her life and family. The list is endless, so I’ll stop, but I did suggest that she start a “What Not to Wear” show targeted towards mothers with appalling taste in style, so they wouldn’t dress their kids like dweebs. That aside, due to her phenomenal desire to defy the ordinary, her four-year old wanted to be taken to a "messy" beach, so that she and her sister could pick up the trash and help clean it up! Did I mention that her seven-year old willingly eats healthy food and rarely even smells junk food? My friend knows her ambition (It’s not a 9-5 corporate ruckus) and is darn good at it. Hmm. Now when I think of it, she too is a Capricorn.:-)
People assume the longer hours you spend at work or the more you travel on business, the more driven you are. And they say it like it’s a crime. Well, for starters, wrong! Some women have to keep longer hours because that’s what their job entails. Then there are women, who work because of financial constraints. I have super-successful corporate friends, who love their families as much as stay-at-home women, but because you can’t have the cake and eat it too, you do what’s required. You can’t say I can do what a man does and then leave things midway because you want to come home and cook or sing a lullaby. The way Mother Nature created us women, you want to be able to put a fresh meal on the table and read a story to your little one, but it can’t all be done. It’s tough and draining, but the inability to do these little things shouldn’t earn the woman insipid comments like, “An ambitious woman can never keep a house happy.” By the same token, just because a woman is always available for her family, doesn’t make her super-competent and compassionate. It’s quality vs. quality. What if she’s too lazy to juggle a work life balance or lacks the drive or confidence or interest to go out in the real world. Again, just because a woman is a stay-at-home person, doesn’t mean she lacks the drive. My friend in San Diego is a classic example. To each his own, but don’t condemn “ambition” like it’s a leper you don’t want to see on the streets.
I want to end my rants with: If your ambition is to cruise through life doing nothing but staying happy the way you are, kudos to you. Do just that because that’s your ambition, and there is nothing wrong with it. Its life without a drive that is tragically sad.
More until next time.
Xoxo
Copyright © 04.23.2009
“Ambition is the germ from which all growth of nobleness proceeds” - Oscar Wilde
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