Aap or Hum

Lahore 

21st Dec.201

11:02am

Dear Diary,

life is the same everywhere , here or there , at every place on this planet . the human psyche is the same , we all want the elusive , forgetting what we have and the treasures we have in our fist. Always,looking for the unreachable . Ammi , has been dropping silent hints that I need to try again and have  another baby ; which Inshallah this time would be a boy. I am happy ,contented, Ahmed is happy so why cant we be left alone to live our lives? The pressure, the subtle hints, the tactics, the carrot dangled in the form of a bigger solitaire , money .. 

uff! I wish i could just shout loud , this stifles me. what happened to fatima? Isn't she important? finally I have regained my life back.. the lost stomach , the droopy boobs finally inshape. The 3 am crazy feedings, the feeling of being a cow and a milk machine.. the cries, the fever, tonsils, rash . I mean all the totkas are known ,every dai's secret method to fix colic is known . But, the pressure to produce the heir to the name. 

Aren't my dolls heiresses in their right? And now I have to go visit someone who will help me with this .. do i give in or its quieter and the tension , hassle is less to fight. Hmm.. hit the speed dial to Allah ..

Chandigarh

21st Dec 2012

3:33pm

Dear Diary,

Urghhhhh! why oh why ? why do i have to have another baby? why cant one child be enough? don't they worry about the population explosion? Don't they the earth is going to explode? hello, how are we going to be sure ? when are you going to ask me, you  nincompoop?

A tale of two sisters and the traffic cop

A tale of two sisters and the traffic cop

(Shamelessly borrowing for the Bard)

The city beautiful has one of the best traffic policing in North India. They do me proud, you have to wear your seat belts, be in check, so that you don’t exceed the speed, the newest breath test and a number of small rules which make life easier and cut down the risk of unruly drivers in the city. They are also incorruptible especially in a city where everyone is related to someone from the tri states, Punjab, Haryana and Himachal Pradesh. Everyone worth their salt have a ‘rishtedaar’ they can call. We all love to name drop and try to muscle our way by just naming XYZ as our close family friend or uncle. This has led to me reach an interesting analysis (Elementary work Watson) how come all are related to the politicians or the bureaucrats in the city? If so, the procreation rates would give Darwin scare and are also the answer to the happy big families we all have. No wonder, India’s population is exploding. We currently have the highest rate.

 The city has cops hiding behind the trees so planted lovingly by the founders of the city who wanted to take make it an urbane green French city but they did not imagine it would hide lovers, be a spot for the men to do their business and for our finest blues to hide and pounce on unsuspecting poor ladies who press the pedal and love to speed giving into what else the empty road and the lovely weather.

This is a tale of two sisters who are alike but so different fro each other like chalk and cheese. And the same cop in blue figured in the episode that happened on the same day outside the Golf club. Ah! The club you will say. Well my older sister was in a big hurry and we do not argue with her ever and this was something very small, she was driving and speeding. So the policemen stopped her and asked her to pullover. She did all that and knew she was going to be slapped with a fine. Her sweetness and her looks so helped, the traffic police listened to her and she said, I’m in a hurry, please excuse me this time. I will never do this again. The cop listened to the mantra again and again. She offered him money a 500 Rs note. He took it, but she said I was planning to give you less so please give my money back. The cop taken back, returned her Rs 400.

You will be shocked I know I was too.

The second sister was speeding and was stopped by him (again)! He never knew what was going to happen. So she looked at him and he said madam, you are speeding! Imagine the cops surprise, she stared crying, bawling her eyes out.  She was I’m sorry, I'm sorry , I didn’t know. I will just get you the money, don’t fine me, and don’t fine me. The cop kept on looking at her, flabbergasted taken aback by her!  He stared to console her, and told her don’t worry don’t worry. It’s a simple fine.   My sister went away promising him that she would be just back in five minutes.

Over here, you are going to smile, and let your cynical self take over, thinking what a bunch of con artists. My sister went back to her house (a few minutes away) and came back and paid him Rs 1500!

What do you think? The city’s finest was stunned and every time she passes by, she gets a salute.

holy prasad

This world is indeed a strange and now more than ever. I am not talking about Modinomics or the shrewd word play he weaves nor am I talking about Rahul baba, it’s not even about the economic slowdown.

I am talking about the lines of devotees all rushing to the houses of worship, be it the mandir, gurudwara or the mosque or the church. I’m guilty of the same, I agree we all are creatures of habit, we look to make deals and to bring Him humane puny gifts in order to swing the tide on our favor. These days it’s the rounds to bless for the annual terror of the boards and to score the holy grail of percentage in the rat race. I am a Punjabi tiger mom and am doing all possible to make sure we can cross the finishing line to conquer and to make a mark.

Well, the northern sectors in Chandigarh have beautiful, ornate Sikh temples. They are architecturally in sync with the surroundings, all white, marble floors, all the accessories are in place, the benches for the creaky old knees, the sink/basin with a white towel and the good soft soap (so as to not cause dryness to one’s hands) and then the miracle of technology. Nowhere, will you find the large projector screens that explain the holy book in such fashion. We also have the best fresh flowers in display.

Nothing is lacking for the modern worshipper. I am the temporary resident and find one thing jarring in the whole setup. The, paradox being that these places of worship have the holy Prasad under lock and key! Imagine you go pay your obeisance and find no Prasad. The feeling of something incomplete hits you! No Bhaiji, no sewadar and you walk back from the empty hall where one wishes the walls could speak and resonate and tell the story.

For me to go to the Gurudwara and not find Prasad makes me feel my visit is incomplete. Since, my childhood the piping hot prasad given at the end of the line, dripping hot Prasad ,the sweet smell and comfort from eating it . It is the sense of security that I get from eating it. My mother has brought me up , that Prasad becomes so because of the continuous recitation of the holy words. The joy of eating Prasad and then rubbing it on one’s arms or legs akin to the modern day lubrication! Ninety percent of Sikh men have flowing beards thanks to this!

Nowadays, even this is a fast dying experience as Prasad is blotted on tissues papers! And God is left unattended and the Prasad is under lock and key .Its in the same fashion as we have starting giving value to artifice and materialism leaving behind the beauty of Prasad substituting it with blotted halva…  

hindustan times

• 4 Feb 2013
• Hindustan Times (Chandigarh)
• Ravneet Sangha ravneetsangha@hotmail.com

Soaking in life’s experiences from the elderly

I WISH ALL OF US WOULD TAKE OUT TIME TO SPEND TIME WITH THE OLDIES, LEARNING FROM LIFE’S EXPERIENCES AS THEY ARE THE ONES WHO ARE THE BACKBONE OF LIFE

I am one of the migratory birds dipping into the ocean of studies/coaching in Chandigarh. Right now, I am part of the tribe of mothers – identified by Moses as the stressed-out crazy paranoid mothers – who have embraced every god or goddess in the hope that their child does well in the ‘ make or break’ board exams.

I walk to preserve my sanity for the next child in line. I walk in one of the innumerable parks of City Beautiful. To introduce you, the park is an oasis of entertainment, non-stop soap opera of a world that is increasingly going online.

We will all like the status, we will comment about everything that ails the system but to be the change so that something happens well is expecting bit too much. ‘Who has the time?’ is the favorite reply.

The green, well thoughtout park in our sector is quaintly charming. Let me introduce you to the regulars here. The lovebirds who sit here with no shame or inhibitions. It is like watching a 70’s movie: they sit so sweetly on the benches, openly or some even behind the trees, wrapped around each other with no care for the world. You think their little hearts will float around them. They visit the park in the middle of the day! Then, the park has the authorised ‘maalis’ who are supposed to maintain the park.

Well, they do their work, but mostly what they do is sunbathe. I have come to the conclusion that they are the forerunners of those inhabiting the nudist beaches of Europe.

In fact, they align their cycles in a row, hang their lunch boxes on the trees to avoid scavengers like stray dogs and lie soaking in the sun and earn wages in return.

I must thank Manekaji here, for supporting the stray dog population which rules the place like a person fief; never mind that yours truly has been bitten by one of these creatures. My leg must look like a tasty morsel! Or maybe it is the alien smell of Punjab that does not gel with the hoity-toity matrons of these sectors.

Ah! the madams are adorable. They are called ‘didi’, ‘ bibiji’, ‘bibaji’ or madam, depending on who is addressing whom. They power-walk, dressed in designer shiny fare; walking to lose the kilos that somehow just adds up. The conversations are priceless; they gain weight because they do not eat anything; it’s just the crazy hectic social calendar. The common characteristic these ladies have is the well-manicured finger on speed dial to update on the gossip.

My favorite group is the group of oldies. The adorable, sweet men and woman who sit in groups from 3 in the afternoon to the last warm dying ray of the setting sun. They come together to maintain their dignity and selfrespect; drawn together by a common need for company amid the hustle and bustle of their homes.

They come, share stories; wizened faces, wearing glasses and holding canes with backs straight.

This is my core group; they are the ones whom I talk to. In fact, I wish all of us would take out time to spend time with them, learning from life’s experiences as they are the ones who are the backbone of life.

It does not take time for the greens to turn brown, so one should hurry.

Previous StoryNe

The Oasis

I am one of the migratory, transitory birds dipping into the ocean of studies/coaching in Chandigarh. Right now, I part of the tribe of mothers as identified by Moses as the stressed out crazy paranoid mothers who have embraced every God, Goddess in the hope their child does well in the holy grail of make or break boards.

To preserve my sanity for the next child in line, I walk. I walk in one of the innumerable parks of City Beautiful. To introduce you, the park is an oasis of entertainment, non-stop soap opera style in a world that is increasingly online. We will all like the status, we will comment about everything that ails the system but to be the change so that something happens well that is a bit too much. Who has the time, is the favorite reply.

The green, well thought of park amongst the sector is quaintly charming. Let me introduce you to the regulars here .The love birds who sit here with no shame or inhibitions. It is like watching a 70’s movie, they sit so sweetly on the benches, openly or some even behind the trees, wrapped around each other with no care for the world, that you think little hearts will float around them. They visit the park in the middle of the day! Then, the park has the authorized maalis/ gardeners who are supposed to keep the park maintained. Well they do their work but mostly what they do is sun bathe. I have come to the conclusion they are the fore runners of the nudist beaches of Europe.

In fact, they align their cycles in a row, hang their tiffin’s on the trees to avoid scavengers like dogs and lie in, soaking in the sun and earning a wage.

I must thank Maneka ji here, for supporting the stray dog population which rules the place like the person fiefdom, never mind that yours truly got bitten here. My leg must look like a tasty morsel! Or maybe it is the alien smell of Punjab that does not gel with the hoity –toity matrons of these sectors.

Ah! The madams are adorable. They are called, didi, bibiji, bibaji or madam depending accordingly. They power –walk dressed in designer shiny fare walking to lose the sneaky kilo that somehow just adds up .The conversations are priceless; they gain weight because they do not eat anything; its just the crazy hectic social calendar. The common characteristic these ladies have is the French manicured finger on speed dial to update about the gossip gleaned.

My favorite group is the group of oldies. The adorable, sweet men and woman who sit in groups from 3 in the afternoon to the last warm dying ray. They come together to maintain their dignity, self-respect drawn together by a common need for company amongst the hustle bustle of their homes. They come, share, stories wizened faces, wearing glasses and holding canes with back straights. This is my core group; they are the ones who I talk to. In fact, I wish all of us would take out time to spend time with them, learning from life’s experiences as they are the one’s who are the back bone of life.

It does not take time when the green turns to brown , so one should hurry.