The eleventh commandment: Don't offer your opinion unless it's asked for

Conversation with one of the neighbourhood (self-appointed) Goan matriarchs.

Matriarch: Arrey baba, how are you?
Me: Fine, thank you.

Matriarch: And how is everybody at home? All well?
Me: Yes, thank you for asking, everyone is fine.

Matriarch: And your sister? Getting married no?
Me: (downright surprised!): No! Who told you that?

Matriarch (fishing for information): No... I thought I heard your mother mention something...
Me (knowing my mother would be critically injured if she indeed insinuated something of that nature): I doubt it aunty...

Matriarch: And what about you?
Me: We're both quite happy as we are aunty, thank you.

Matriarch: Yes, but you know, time is running out... you need to get married soon, there's not so many years left on the meter. Nowadays all you girls are waiting so long, you should get married now only, when there's still time... later, who knows?
Me (Thinking 'who the f***ing hell asked you????????'): Ok aunty, I'm in a bit of a hurry... must run...love to the family.


Someone told me that the eternal excuse for old people saying inappropriate things - 'But they mean well!', is no longer going to suffice for them poking their noses where they certainly were not invited.
I can't wait for that day.

Money maketh the marriage?

A friend of mine (well, lots of them actually, but for now, i'll use one example) said that a man's wealth was one of her main criteria to decide whether she would marry him or not. i.e. it would be one of the top three deciding factors. And as more of my female friends reach the 'marriageable' age (i'm still not sure exactly what that is by the way), they too seem to find their prospective partner's financial stablity to be quite a point of concern.

Of course, money is important. Anyone stupid enough to say otherwise is obviously living in a parallel universe where everything is free. But for the rest of us, you can't seem to do very much without the moolah. That's not the point in question however. My friend's argument was this - If my father has worked his whole life to bring his family up to a certain standard of living, why is it wrong to want to stay at that same level, or rise above it?

Fair enough, no argument with that either. My question is, why are you dependant on someone else to provide that lifestyle for you? Isn't it sort of insulting to your father that you've learned nothing about working hard and providing for yourself and your family, rather than just mooching off someone else? A lot of well-to-do girls even see it as their 'right' to the money, even though they did absolutely nothing to earn it.

My father routinely drilled this fact into us, "It's not your money, it's mine", and even though at the time I was quite resentful of this statement, I've come to appreciate his principles on the subject. I may inherit a big fat chunk of money later on in life, or I may not... either way, I was given an education, and a good one at that, so that I would not have to be dependant on someone else to maintain me or whatever lifestyle I had become accustomed to.

And the same applies to those girls' parents that look into the financial stability of the prospective boys' families. Even if his family does have pots of money, how does that have any reflection on the boy himself? I can understand if you were looking at the father as a future partner for your child, but if you're not, then how could his money possibly interest you? It bears no testament to the ability of the boy to earn a living and stand on his own feet, never mind about keeping your daughter well. Which in turn brings us back to the original point, if you educated your daughter, possibly sent her abroad, invested all that money in making sure she was prepared to work her way up in the world, why the bloody hell does she need to be kept?

It's a vicious little circle.

...

I had you when I was 12 and sick and my mother wouldn't let me see anyone in case I was 'contagious'.
I had you when I needed two ice-cream cones, or to splash with in the first rain, and it didn't matter that we were too old for both.
I had you for timeless evenings spent on the terrace staring at the sky, sipping illicit rum (and vodka when we could afford it) and having you sing and sing and sing... just because I asked for it.
I had you for hugs, and cuddles when we'd fall asleep watching TV till 2 a.m.
I had you for teaching me how a friendship could be just as heart wrenching as being in love.

And now I have to let you go, just because...

Being prepared should make saying goodbye easier. But it doesn't.

On the 9th Valentine's Day My True Love Gave to Me...

2001 - Flowers and an anonymous letter from 'Muskles 2000' , who professed his love for me, having silently adored me for years across our Sunday School classroom

2002 - Blank Spot

2003 - Partied hard with similarly single peers while toasting the good life

2004 - Enjoyed the single life having dumped inappropriate "boyfriend" a few weeks earlier; toasted my freedom over several drinks

2005 - Largely blank spots... vague memories of toasting something or the other with too much alcohol and unfortunate results

2006 - Complained bitterly to anyone that would listen how terrible long-distance relationships were; toasted misery with large vodkas

2007 - Sat at a bar with a single friend and toasted alcohol, our one faithful companion through the years

2008 - First chemotherapy treatment, followed by long blank spots caused by large doses of Avil; toasted life and all its bloody surprises

2009 - I can hardly wait...

Hyderabad

The harder you try to hold on to something, the quicker it slips away.

The Hyderabad of my childhood was filled with cousins, piles of mangoes, my grandmother's authoritative voice, my grandfather's soft hands soothing away cuts and bruised egos, a Maruti 800 car packed above and beyond the limit with children of all ages, shapes and sizes, dogs that were fed on the sly under the table, the burning heat chased away by coolers fed with water by a Mali more aged than I could ever imagine and finally, the inevitable train journey home towards normalcy.

Now, when I sit in my grandfather's chair (which seemed big enough to hold all four granddaughters at one time), and feel the new material that covers its arms... I am looking desperately for any reminders of the Hyderabad I used to know. My grandparents are long gone, their only remnants are pictures on the walls and their extensive library collection. The cousins have moved away, some married, some gone stranger than they ever were before. And the house - the one constant that encompassed it all, has changed slowly, subtly... so that I did not even notice it until four years later.

For the first time, my holiday refuge where I never cast a backward glance towards Bombay, is making me homesick. As I dish out advice to others about 'living in the moment' and 'accepting change or you will never be happy with the present', I am finding the practise harder than I ever imagined.

Every alteration is bewildering, every inevitable transformation is making me long to go home.

Day Dreaming

Such illusions of grandeur,
of a life yet to live.