The music in me..

Was reading a lullaby post and became nostalgic...

I can't sing. And its a big deal for me. 

I grew up listening to my parents sing all the time. As a young boy, my father would run away from home to learn classical music from a muslim Ustad in the pre partitioned Punjab. My father is a very fine singer with a soft, melodious voice. 

My mother could sing in that sweet simple way that Tabu sings in that movie Virasat ! It used to embarrass me endlessly though she wasn't all that bad at all. She sincerely believed she had a voice and would diligently note down lyrics of Hindi songs in a worn out little diary. She wouldn't wait for an invitation to sing at weddings and parties while my father would act pricey as family and friends would indulge him no end before he obliged.

I so wanted that I could sing. I knew every song that my father hummed as he sat tinkering with anything that needed to be fixed in the house ! He was a closet mechanic for all kinds of electrical repairs and he would hum his music while he went about his favourite pass time. Ashok Kumar, Hemant Kumar, Manna De, Kishore Kumar, Mohd Rafi, Mukesh, Muzzarat Nazeer, Munni Begum, Farida Khannum, Iqbal Bano....

As a 7  year old, whenever I was alone - in the bathroom, the terrace, cycling home from school... I would sing his songs and pretend to be the greatest singer on earth :

Dheere Dheere, aa re badal...
Ye raat, ye chandni phir kahan
Jaag darde e ishq jaag
Bequrar karke hame yun na jaeeye
Bhala tha kitan apna bachpan
Aye maa, aye maa teri surat se alag, bhagwan ki surta kya hogi
Aanchal se kyun baandh liya, hai mujh pardesi ka pyaar
Jab deep jale Aana, jab shaam Dhale aana
Kitna dukh bhulaya tumne, pyare
Madhuban main radhika naachi re
Na tum hume jano..

Many still to add to the list

...lest I forget them, if that is possible.

I wasn't sure if I was good. I yearned for my father to tell me how I sang but he he never did. Often, he would make fun of my shy attempts to sing. I tried very much to improve, but there was never a word of encouragement. So I never sang in public. In most birthday parties of my childhood, there used to be this standard game of passing the parcel and my heart would jump up to my mouth if ever the parcel stopped at me. There was extreme probability that my chit would require me to sing a song and though I would have rehearsed ten different songs for every such occasion, I would never, never sing.

My youngest brother showed some of my father's talent and interest in singing and I took it upon myself to groom him ! It was funny ! I'd make him learn the lyrics of my father's songs which were rather difficult to sing anyway and every afternoon I'd make him rehearse and like any 'Ustaad Ji' I'd correct the alaap ! I feel so sorry for my brother now ! Though he dutifully sang and danced on call at every birthday party, I never heard him sing a song after he grew up into a boy and a man !! I must have scarred him for life.

When Ruhi was born, I would stay awake most nights for the first couple of years, cradling her in my arms and singing my father's songs to keep her calm and to keep myself awake. 

My favourites were " Dheere dheere aa re badal" and "Bhala tha kitna apna bachpan". Both these reminiscent of my childhood and my bittersweet relationship with my father. Since the songs are so ancient and my husband had never heard them before, I was spared being ticked on how badly I had twisted the tune, just in case he woke up to hear me bray. He is a fine singer himself !

Soon these became lullabys for Ruhi to sleep. Ruhi grew up and much to my husband's disappointment never showed any inclination to sing. 

My son came by three years ago and didn't ever need a lullaby to sleep. I'd put him in the crib and he'd shut eyes like clockwork. I do not remember singing to him at all, though once in a while I may have done it in an absent minded way. 

A few days ago, he was pretending to write a doctor's prescription as I was preparing for Ruhi to be go to bed (its still a ceremony!). He was talking in the background - he talks all the time, often to himself. Methodically, he cut the chatter and started singing :

 "dheere dheere aa re badal, dheere dheere. Raindrops, lollipops, O wott fun itood be"

I stood very still, completely afraid that he would stop if I gave him any attention. He did stop and moved on to the next ditty. I was exhilarated with emotion. He remembers the song from somewhere! My husband gave me a knowing smile. He knows how much these songs mean to me but more than that he is finally content that his son has his music (and mine) in him. 

Happinessss...

I won a prize for this photo ! 

A Sony Ericcson mobile phone, just when I so needed a new phone !

And they walked into a shoe made of ice-cream and fluff...

This evening,  the slimy mother pretended to enjoy watching the special assembly school photos for the umpteenth time. She pointed a curious finger at each little kid and asked all the names. 

'Boo Boo Sticks' was excited like hell and she sang out the names....Nanaki, Meher, Ridhi, Yashaswi, Ashna, Ahaan and Raj and the rest.  The slimy mom made a mental pause. Smiled at the cute little boy with the hint of a dimple, so engrossed with a rather sheepish Ruhi! 

So that be him ! Choooo Chweet ! 

PS: October 8, 2008 : Anticlimax ! The dimpled boy turned out to be Shivi ! The slimy mother got it all wrong as usual !!

Eye Candy of the Diligent kinds !

I know I need to say thank you but I am just too stumped and I do suspect here may be a case of distorted vision ("pyaar mein andha hona") ! LOL.

My blog is a a bit spaced out, OTT with emotion, and sometimes juvenile. Very like me. And when someone gives me an award for being Smart & Brilliant, I am Gobsmacked ( yup, thats the current favourite word for the lack of vocabulary). 

Its taken me a few days to recover and so Diligent Candy a big hug for giving me...

The Brilliant Weblog Award- a prize given to sites and blogs that are smart and brilliant both in their content and their design. The purpose of the prize is topromote as many blogs as possible in the blogsphere. Here are therules to follow:

When you recieve the prize you must write a post showing it, togetherwith the name of who has given it to you, and link back to them. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in content or design. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing them that they have been awarded with the ‘Brilliant Weblog’ award. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional) to.

I pass the sunshine on to:

1. nm : Firstly for being 'there' always. Also for the simple honesty of her sweet blog.
2. my dayzwithmyself : He is funny and its a pity he has disappeared. Temporarily I hope.
3. Mampi : Because 'Singh is King' ! Go figure !
4. Yonearthnot : Brilliantly funny always - without much effort !
5. Amardeep : One of the 'must reads' of mine. Very erudite. Very engaging.
6. High Heel: Always reminds me of 'girly time'. Kewl, funny and so bitchy ! lurvit!
7. Ageless Bonding : Naanstap Naansens !

And many many many others who I do not have on my bookmark bar...copy paste is simple you see ! :)

And the story progresses !

Ringchen asked what happened next in the 'Ruhi, Raj & the Bracelet story' ! 

I was also curious why she had returned the bracelet. I must have asked her more often than she was expecting me to bother so she gave me one of her 'looks' (the knowing, I am the mother of all mothers look) and asked if I wanted her to get the bracelet back ?! 

Checkmate !
I said it was her own wish. She insisted she will get it since I seem to like it ! 

I didn't ask again and it hasn't come back. Yet.

2 days after she returned the bracelet, under the usual pile of paper cutouts, scraps, dried leaves and flowers in her school bag I found a folded bit of thick paper. It had a cute drawing of a little girl in a ninja pose ! Could have been a dance pose. The girl had long black hair. I stared in fascination. She peeped across my shoulder and said " Raj drew it. That's my picture" ! So the story progresses!

I ironed out the sheet, folded the extra paper and pinned it on her soft board. Hmmmm....

Just like that.

My husband has the quality of making the most mundane of incidents sound filmy. A few days ago he said : "I have news to share with you that will gobsmack you" ( my words to translate whatever it was that he said).

My pulse fell. I hate surprises. In my life surprises are never pleasant, not till now.

I barked back "NOW WHAT?".

He smiles dramatically, modulating his voice, said " Ruhi is in love". And he almost giggled. I told him he was so absurd and that he needed to seriously grow up before the kids do and I walked off.

He persisted, and offered more details " his name is Raj - she is wearing a bracelet that he gifted her, the maid told me ".

Ruhi was fast asleep and I wriggled her right wrist from under herself to find an oversized plasticky band with shiny multicolored rectangles. I let it be, must have been some innocent thing that had been misconstrued by the maid who it seems has been brought up on a strict diet of cheesy hindi movies.

The next morning Ruhi woke up chirping about an elaborate dream about pink beaked birds and elephants and a tiger who slouches while shaking his bum and pointing his curved finger at her friend Ashna. She slouched on the bed shaking her pointy little bum and explaining the tiger's gestures with her finger. I watched with familiar fascination, marveling at the beauty of the world she sleeps in. Then I pointed at the band and asked "what's that Roo?"

She smiled "friendship band. Raj gave it to me. You know mama he specially bought it for me with REAL money". I tried not to scowl at her and asked " Who is Raj ?"

"Arre, my best friend in school. I love him mama, he kissed me on my cheek in the nap time" ( the kids take a half hour nap in school).

I wasn't liking the thought. What do six year olds know about kissing ? I tried to sound indifferent so that she doesn't feel it was some big deal "Did you tell Namrita Ma'm ?".

Ruhi was getting impatient now " Why ? He didn't kiss on the lips ?". I almost chocked on my toothbrush. I must say I am completely unprepared for this conversation so early in our relationship. For God's sake she is still a baby.

I decide to leave it at that for the moment. She goes on "you know Ma, he gave me the band so that when we grow old and if we get lost, he can find me"!

Hmmmm... straight out of Karan Johar movies. Her father's daughter for sure.

Yesterday, the grotesque thing was missing from her tiny wrist. When I asked her she said she had put it back in that kid's pocket.

"Why?"

"Just like that".

Sentimental Little Fool !

Ruhi goes to a 'new' school that just started this year. Its a beautiful school and though its an hour's school-bus drive away from home, everything else about it makes up for that extra distance. At least for now. 

They do not have an auditorium yet and they make do with a large open space for a special assembly each week till their fancy audi gets the final touches. Since the Kids have been with them a couple of months now, they are having each class to host the special assembly for the parents each week. Last Wednesday was the turn of Ruhi's class. I was excited as hell and had been anxiously waiting for the day and I planned meticulously to leave home well in advance to account for every traffic eventuality. 

Office time in the morning, the traffic is a bitch and the BRT is well....I don't need to swear, anyone who lives in South Delhi already know what I mean. I insisted on driving since I didn't trust the driver or the husband enough to get to school just as my precious darling begins what she had told me was a big 'surprise' for me. We were moving at a snail's pace but I had accounted for this delay...but half an hour later, I knew it was impossible to make it before the assembly. As the traffic became more stubborn I wouldn't as much glance at the watch. I couldn't hear a word of the conversation my husband was having with me. My heart felt like a log and I wondered what it is that makes me so silly, so weak. Why is it that my husband who loves our daughter as much as I do,if not more, is so matter of fact about these things? Am I strange ?

We reached school half an hour late for the hour long special assembly. I drove past the screaming guards at the school gate, right into the porch, abandoned the car and my husband to pacify the guards and ran my fastest race to the assembly. There was a row of children up there with tall masks covering their faces, taking the final bow just as I reached. I spotted the Pink shirt that I bought for her just a day before and I quietly stood at the back fighting my tears and taking pictures till the masks went off and she noticed me. 

Her face lit up like sunshine. I pretended as if I had been standing there forever. She was with her class, following the teacher's instructions to walk in a file, stand straight, sing the national anthem and all through her eyes were fixed on me with that silly sheepish smile. 

I got to speak to her for a few minutes before the children ran away to their classroom. She told me she had been crying under her mask since she had thought I was not going to come at all. And that like an idiot she had not seen me standing at the back. 

I told her she was a sentimental little fool.

Yeah !

This is my family ! (post inspired by my children's' home work project last week)

This is Ruhi, who will turn seven this November. Ruhi suffers from many happy delusions. For instance she sincerely believes she is a Gobsmacking beauty. Therefore she lives up to that role by dressing up in festive finery, even when she goes to the park. She is often spotted on top of the rickety DDA park slide with her shiny 'Gharara' pulled above her bony knees and christmas trinkets hanging from various points on her head.

She also thinks she is not thin enough and digs wearing clothes that can make her look even thinner, when she is not wearing festive finery. I call her my "boo boo sticks, pointy bums' ! She thinks it a a compliment !

A born activist, she wants to save the planet, the poor and the old to begin with. In crowded malls and cinema halls she has the spooky quality of spotting senior most citizens and make pretty eyes at them. Upon getting a hint of any response she will shyly fold hands in a greeting, resulting in a great deal of affectionate reciprocal activity. Ruhi wants to be a 'household help' when she grows up ! Since she thinks Kirti 'didi', the girl who works with us, has a really cool job to do ! Cook, clean and watch TV and no going to office ( the dirty word for her) and no homework either !!!

This is three year old Rayyan Wasi, who likes to be addressed by his full name. Rayyan Wasi adopted a tattered blue 'Jaipuri Razai' when he was one year old and the two have since been inseparable. The 'Razai' goes to cinema halls, vacations, school, weddings, birthday parties and the mall, which is his most favourite place. Rayyan Wasi is a potential TV channel Talent Show aspirant. He poses and sings on a toy mike with his Razai wrapped around his neck. He also plays on a small cartoon network guitar, a "tabla" set and a tiny 'dholak' that is his most recent musical acquisition. Whenever he can lay hands on it, he also plays upon my precious harmonica. His father is convinced down to every bone in his body that Rayyan Wasi will be a talented singer / musician when he grows up. I hope and pray that Rayyan eventually does not break his father's heart ! 

Rayyan & the Blue 'Razai' !
Rayyan's other passion is cars. He has accumulated several by various means - gifts from doting relatives, gifts from me and his dad, shameless blackmail in Malls, shameless anarchy during visits to Gurtej & Kabir's homes ( his 8 year old male cousins). When he is not singing, playing on his musical contraptions or sucking on to the dirty blue blanket, Rayyan Wasi runs his battery of cars on my bed, from one corner to the other while giving a running commentary about an imaginary traffic situation.

This is my husband. He is always, always, always the man on the phone. When not on the phone, he is generous, soft spoken, sentimental, kind and funny. Hates airplanes, lifts, cinema halls, malls, vacations, hills, the sea, parking lots and being alone at home. And like Ruhi, he suffers from many happy delusions. He thinks he is the world's greatest musician, perfumer, cook, husband, father, son, brother, friend, designer, movie editor, driver...etc etc etc . He would have been insufferable if he hadn't been so vulnerable and naive. He leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor, he is more messy than the kids are, he drives me nuts. 

But he also lets me win every fight and spoils me silly, more than he spoils the children. Naaaaaaaaaaaaah ! I am not going to make this a 'senti' post. That one is for later.

Everyone's children are the same.

A bengali woman started working as part time help in my house recently. She is as bad as they come, dishonest, unreliable, lazy, incompetent and I wonder why we have her at all. The last time I told her that it was not working out she almost fell at my feet and she really does seem very needy so the story goes on. Anyway, four days ago she got her 3 months old daughter along to our house. Her husband had hit the child so she could not bear to leave her alone with him.

I peered at the dark, malnourished kid. She seemed reasonably clean but very weak. I made her lie down in the drawing room under the fan on a small padded mattress that Ruhi uses for her dolls, carefully covering it with a plastic sheet and a piece of cloth. She lay there happily gurgling while her mother went about her chores. No one except me and the other girl who helps me run my house, came near the child.

Before leaving, the woman left Ruhi's small mattress in her room and put the cloth away for washing. Nothing of great consequence till I realised that my mother in law was greatly upset with what had happened. That I had made 'that' kid lie on Ruhi's toy mattress.

I have a pact of silence to all things disagreeable within my rather volatile joint family. So I quietly went about collecting my things to leave for our weekend getaway. When she became particularly nasty, I softly told her " sabke bachche ek jaise hote hain" (everyone's children are the same). She did not say anything to that.

Half way through our road trip, I got a call from my father in law. He is nearly ninety, and always graceful. He sounded livid with me. He said his wife had told him that I let an infected, dying child lie down on my daughter's mattress. I asked him how he had arrived at that conclusion. He said the diagnosis was based on my mother in law noticing from farthest way that the child's limbs were rather thin compared to her head and body !!!

But she had not even as much come near the poor child. How did she know it was a fatal, infectious disease ? Unless the disease was called abject poverty. She had also noticed that the child's leg had touched the carpet on which she sits down to read namaaz everyday. Everything had been soiled it seems. And I am the freak who allows pariahs into my house, on to my carpet, on to my children's playthings.

I kept burning in an indignant fire till hours afterwards. I am not class conscious. I eat from the office peon's tiffin. I have inherited this from my mother who is beyond care for anything and anyone at all.

I always turn to my husband in such times to give vent to my feelings. He patiently explained that the issue was not class but hygiene related.

I know that's not true but I will be a coward and let it pass.

Just Do it !

I got my jeep, my tattoo and as incongruous as it may sound, alongside, I have also started teaching at a Business School! Thats some work and it just proves that all that you read in those coffee table motivation books is actually true. Its possible and you can do it. If you try. If you are wondering what's my sermon about - I wrote a 'wannado' list a couple of weeks back

I have also made a new friend - 86 year old retired Sikh Doctor who now lives in Canada and who I found accidently on a yahoo group that I subscribe to. I call him Taya Ji since he says I remind of his niece Gurmit who lives in Delhi and he has taken it upon himself to teach me about religion. He sent me the first lesson on e mail - an overview about the beginning of religion and the history and essence of prevalent religions. All written by him, specially for me.

But its not as rosy as it sounds. I can't maneuver that car into my jam packed office car park so in the bargain I park half a kilometer away ( some exaggeration since it explains the situation) and walk to office with the luggage that I like to carry with me everyday. I've been lucky enough to only catch the odd drizzle till now but its still 2 months of monsoon in Delhi.

The Tattoo ? I am a wee bit embarrassed each time I extend my hand to people at meetings or while meeting strangers. I am always wondering if it 'slots' me. If it appears that I am trying to prove something ? If it makes me seem insecure, rebel with a cause ? Or maybe its all in my mind. My children greeted my tattoo with wonder and curiosity. My son thought it was the batman symbol upside down ! My daughter wanted to know how it was done. My mother in law chanced upon with curiosity then disgust. She wanted to know if it would remain forever.

My husband did not notice it !!!

Till finally , few days ago I extended my arm in front of him and said "I got a tattoo".

And teaching a class of 45 grown up post graduates is mean business. I slog the nights to study what I have to teach them. I travel an hour to reach the campus and its a bit disconcerting till now, but its been only 2 classes. I am eager to know if they think I am making sense. I want to make a difference - I am fascinated by teaching since it makes me drive harder to excel myself. It makes me better person than I could have been otherwise. But it burns me out and most days after the Kids, their holidays, the chores at home, office and teaching I am really tired.

Its now quite a climb to get the next one on my list.

Got to learn to swim this summer.