Refreshingly tired

Couple of months ago I had the privilege of travelling on work for a day, alone (yes you read that right, privilege!). I did a day trip to Delhi and back. While it tired me out by the end of it, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip.

So what'd I do on this trip that was so enjoyable? I left early morning (6.30 a.m.) to get to the airport, reached Delhi, travelled to Gurgaon by car, ate lunch, met my aunt twice, attended two client meetings, zoomed back to Delhi, waited at the airport and then flew back to Bangalore and then traversed right through this city to finally reach home past midnight. There wasn't any shopping, no meeting friends, there wasn't any partying - why there was barely any point in the day when I could sit back and not look at the clock to make sure I kept my next appointment!

So it was an ordinary, reasonably hectic and certainly tiring trip. I asked myself why I enjoyed it so much. Here are my reasons. I travel rarely, so this trip still held a high degree of novelty for me. But the bigger reason is the time I got for myself. Where's the time for yourself, you will ask. After all, I was travelling on work.

Back home, I have a house to run, a family to take care of, office to get to. But when you travel you are freed from many of the responsibilities that you have back home. My husband got my daughter ready for school and took care of packing her lunch that day. Later in the evening, he helped her with her homework and studying, bathed her, got her dinner ready and put her to bed. So essentially I didn't have to do a thing around the house that day, neither did I have my family to take care of (save the phone calls I made to check that everything was all right).

Next, work. Since I didn't have much access to email that day (I could read the emails on the iPhone, but that format isn't very friendly for replying to too many emails) I knew that I couldn't do much about any work that came in that day. Plus my out of office response had indicated that I was travelling and hence not connected. So I didn't have much to get done at work either.

With two aspects of the routine of my everyday life removed for the day, I was doing something different that day. I went to new places (yes the airport can be new too when you haven't seen it for 6 months!), visited a new city, talked to people in a new city, observed them. Can be fascinating! For instance the office had organised for a cab and driver. I was so new to the place that even if the driver took me in the direction opposite to my destination, I would not realise for a very long time. Plus I was on my own, had to watch my back and didn't have anyone to talk to. Which meant that when I wasn't absorbed in watching the outside world, I had time to introspect, to think.

Between the way to and the way back I would have had 2.5 or more hours of waiting at the airport. It didn't get me impatient (something I'd have definitely been some years ago) and it didn't make me restless. I took the rare rare gift of Time and enjoyed it. I bought myself some coffee, something to eat. I surfed on my phone, I looked at everything going on around me - I understood that this was a my-time freebie thrown in when I took on a work-trip. And boy was I glad I recognised it for what it was and welcomed it! Then there were almost 6 hours of flying time. Phone was off - no one could reach me. On the way to Delhi I used the time to read and do some preparatory work for the meetings I was to attend. Because I had no email or internet or phone to distract me, I understood quickly and completely whatever I was going through. On the way back, I used to time to read my book, watch some inflight television while I ate dinner and used the remaining time to sleep quite soundly.

Oh and because I was so positive and happy about my solo trip, my meetings went off rather well. I came back home tired, but refreshed.

At grandmum's knee

I grew up in a household where my parents stayed with my paternal grandparents. I was the first grandchild on both sides - and suitably pampered therefore. But by virtue of staying with my paternal grandparents, I naturally was closer to them than the other set. My grandfather was a gentle, soft-spoken and kind-hearted man who always bought me little gifts in the form of rarely available cookies and ginger-bread men. But this post isn't about him - it's about my formidable grandmother and her influence on my life.

"Ammachi" as I used to call her, was neither gentle nor soft-spoken. She stated her mind loud and clear and was quite clearly the boss of the house. Ammachi was short, stout and had a fierce look about her. She was as strong physically as she was mentally. Her house was always spotless, her meat-safe always full and the dining table always laden with delicious food. In those days eatables were rarely bought; often homemade. Ammachi took great pains to make one-of-a-kind murrukkus, diamond cuts, perfect rose-cookies, appams and payasams. Christmas and Easter seasons meant oodles of this stuff being made in her reasonably rustic kitchen with the help of my grandad "Appachen". These eatables were then served to family that visited during the Season and to be sent to neighbours, most of who were Muslims.

Ammachi's daily cooking is noteworthy too. She would painstakingingly cut vegetable such that all the pieces were the exact same size. I kid you not - but to the naked eye, each piece would appear identical to the next. Try cutting yam, beans, carrots to that perfection. Or try chopping green papaya into the tiniest pieces ever - she believed that unless it were cut that fine, mixing it with coconut and steaming it to make a "thoran" would not result in that perfect dish she was used to. Her meen- vevichathu (the renowned red Kerala fish curry) had everyone in the family begging her to teach them how to make it. It was just so good. My mother (her daughter in law) perfected the recipe from her after decades of training. Till Ammachi passed away, my mother used to take out all the spices for grinding and get Ammachi's approval on their relative proportions, before proceeding to make the dish.

Fierce she was. But if she loved you she was also fiercely loyal. I hear from the rest of the family that inspite of living in very small quarters with her husband and 3 children, her home was always open to her nieces and nephews that needed taking in because they had come to this city to study in or whose families were going through a rough patch. Money in those days was limited. Her daughters have told me of times when the guests in the home would be well-fed, but many a time Ammachi’s children would have to do with a little less. She had 5 brothers and was staunchly loyal to all of them. They could never do any wrong in her eyes.

But these are just aspects of her that others remember very well. I remember her most for other reasons. As a child and teenager, I shared a room with my grandparents and later on after Appachen passed on, shared it with Ammachi. Ammachi and I were together a great deal when I was a child. Though she was still running the kitchen then (my mother was still second in command in the kitchen till some years later), she found a lot of time to talk to me and tell me about her childhood (a sack-full of coconuts for 25 paise, pencils being such a rare and precious commodity that no matter how small the pencil, it would never get discarded – instead they’d find ways of artificially elongating it and using it till the lead was completely gone, being married at age 14 and so on). She also taught me a lot of songs and stories – all in Malayalam, the only language she ever knew. She was the one who taught me a “kadha prasanggam” – a long story spoken entirely in song. I took to her lessons very well and as all children do, by-hearted these songs quickly. Ammachi and Appachen also taught me the part Malayalam – part Syrianic litany (worship/litany) used in the Syrian Christian weddings. When I visited my maternal grandparents, the larger family there soon discovered that I knew all these songs and stories and I obediently prattled it all out for them, again and again.

When I later joined school, my teachers realized that I had an ability to sing/be on stage and very soon I was a part of every occasion in which my class had to be on stage. Stage-fright never worried me and it’s a gift that I have even now. I believe that the early initiation by Ammachi into singing and story-telling and the resultant occasions (amongst family, friends and school) that I got to “perform” is the only reason why I carry so much confidence when it comes to any form of public speaking.

Ammachi might not have been the traditional white-haired, plump and huggable grandmother. Infact I don’t ever remember her kissing me even once. But I was her first grandchild and I knew I was special to her. When my brother came along, her belief in carrying on the “family name” took over her loyalties and he became her favourite. But I believe that I was the one who had the privilege of knowing her best as a grandmother and had the privilege of spending the greatest amount of time with her. Neither my brother nor any of her other grandchildren ever learnt a single song or story from her.

Lost and Found

As the years pass I believe I will get older, wider, wiser and calmer. Older - check, wider - check, wiser - hmm, yes I believe I am getting there on getting wise.... so check. Finally, calmer... now there's an adjective that flummoxes me.

So here's the thing. All the way from being a child to a young adult I was never described as "calm". Neither did I think of myself as "calm". I revolted, reacted, responded... and never once calmly. But come 30 and motherhood, I began to lose the will to do any of these with energy. Perhaps its was the double-whammy of being a 'Working Mother with a Small Baby': that meant no sleeping either in the day or most of the night. So bit by bit, many a thing that stirred up my passions, ceased to bother me. Take for instance my reaction to changes within the workplace - getting a new Boss for example, or a crappy raise. Where once it would've cause panic and a voluble discussion with my colleagues and family about the "impending doom" [it would seem!], I now merely thought about the implications of the change [Calm1]; slept over it [Calm2] and then spoke about it if need be with my superiors [Calm3]! I even recommended sleeping over any reaction to my friends and colleagues. To my other similarly sleep-deprived 'Young Mother' friends I would say "Who has the energy to react!". Oh sorry, make that "Who has the energy to react. (period, cause an exclamation takes energy)". I knew I had "crossed over" when my younger colleague remarked one day "You are always so calm and composed." Yeah right!

Young Baby grew up and that brought it the beautiful gift of more sleep for me. But I didn't go back to being "uncalmly". I read more recently that hormonal changes in a woman in her 30s cause her to become more calm, more brave. But here's the strangest thing. I have received the blessing of calmness. Now macro events [changes in workplace included - and these are still going on] no longer prickle my emotions leading to outbursts. But suddenly absolutely teeny weeny events bug me. Like when the maid goes on leave for a long period - the fact that dust will collect on the various pieces of our furniture worries me. That our new, reasonably priced carpet might get stained with tea/coffee/footprints, or that our new (non-fancy-wood) but wooden table might get marked with liquids/finger prints worries me or seeing clutter worries me. All this creates a sort of panic within me... a flutter of the heart almost. I keep telling myself "Calm Down!" cause its not like anyone died from dust-lined furniture, a dirty carpet or finger-printed table.

Perhaps all these things had worried me 10 years ago as well. But getting older seems to have made me lose my courage to face daily life. But age has given me the strength to face true hardships - like loss of a job, an ill child/parents - these I couldn't have faced with as much fortitude as I now can. I have lost courage in a sense but found it where I really need it. And that is my silver lining!

When family is friend

Recently my brother in law was with us for a couple of days. And he mentioned that he felt one must always be around "friends" at every life-stage. At that my husband remarked that in my case, I always stuck to my family. I then told them that for me, my family members are my friends. Not so in my husband's case - evidently.

Mine is a large family they say. We've been in Bangalore since the 1950s when my grandparents moved to this beautiful city. And we've always frequented one of the Malayali Syrian Christian churches [MSCC]. My grandmother's several siblings and cousins also frequented the same church in Bangalore with their families. With time, the 'C' family grew ['C' representing the family name from my grandmother's side]. I hear from my parents and other relatives that it was customary that after church service every Sunday, the entire "synyam" ["crowd" in Malayalam] went to one of the family homes for Sunday lunch. Organising family weddings combined with the barely-in-existence Bangalore public transport in the 1970s meant several days, if not weeks, of all the families staying together at the wedding home - planning, talking, cooking, eating and sleeping together.

I thus grew up in a household where family was always visiting. And this in the true Indian sense of the word "visit" which meant "impromptu/unannounced visits". My parents stayed with my grandparents and therefore there was always a visitor at home either from within Bangalore or many a time - cousins, uncles, aunts, somebody's somebody from outside of Bangalore, who knew no one else during their visit to this city and hence stayed with us. Staying in a hotel in those days - unheard of! Money was little, space even lesser, but (surprisingly) happiness abounded in the home.

My first-ever friend is my second cousin - she remains my best friend to this day. If it weren't for our tightly bonded families, she and I would have never been able to meet as much as we did as children, for after all we weren't sisters or even kids of siblings. We were grandkids of siblings. Yet the MSC Church that she and I attended and all those extended Sunday lunches and family visits helped grow such a strong tie of friendship between us that she ended up being the one to even introduce me to my future husband!

Just like our home had visitors, we in turn visited our relatives in Bangalore - some more often, some less frequently. As teenagers my brother and I resented being dragged to the lesser-known relatives' homes. So boring, we'd think (and say). But my parents would have none of that and didn't give us a choice. Today we are much better people for that. Those relatives are now our "friends". Their kids (our cousins) are grown up now and they help us personally and professionally. When my husband and I bought a home, we consulted my lawyer-cousin if the papers of the house were in order. In fact he helped us right through the process until the owner handed us the keys. Who better could we trust than our own family, in this matter?

Christmas in our family did not mean exchange of gifts. It did not even mean buying of new clothes or toys. But it did mean making lots of goodies for the family and a big-fat-family-lunch on Christmas day! The same at Easter. Just last Christmas we attended the customary family lunch at Mum's. Then dinner with more family - and we even partly missed a friends' get-together-dinner as we had to attend the family dinner. My colleague asked me, why not skip the family-dinner and go straight to the friends' get-together? I couldn't see the difference in being a part of either - after all, I would be amongst friends anyway.

My favourite poem ever is George Herbert's "The Pulley". I cannot help but share it with you:

 

THE PULLEY.                     

WHEN God at first made man, 
Having a glasse of blessings standing by ; 
Let us (said he) poure on him all we can : 
Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie, 
            Contract into a span. 

            So strength first made a way ; 
Then beautie flow’d, then wisdome, honour, pleasure : 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, 
            Rest in the bottome lay. 

            For if I should (said he) 
Bestow this jewell also on my creature, 
He would adore my gifts in stead of me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : 
            So both should losers be. 

            Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlesnesse : 
Let him be rich and wearie, that at least, 
If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse 
            May tosse him to my breast. 

I completed Vikram Seth's "The Golden Gate" a few days ago.

I simply loved the book. Its a novel in verse. Many a word in the book I had to look up in the dictionary (thank goodness for the Dictionary application on my iPhone: referring was thus easy) - but oh it was so well worth the effort. I ate, slept and dreamt poetry while the book lasted. 

Unlike Vikram Seth, I cannot ever hope to write a verse, let alone a whole book of it. But thank goodness for him and for others like him. They provide me with the balm for my soul - poetry.

Talkling to Mum

The other day my husband noted that I spend a lot of time talking to my mother. 

It struck me that yes, we do. She and I live in the same city and reasonably near each other. We call each other on an average about 4 times a day.

You gasp at the idea? So let me explain what we talk about.

Mostly its about things related to my daughter who spends the day at Amma's home when not at school, "Send her clothes", "She's left her lunch box here", "Tell her she cannot eat ice!"..... Other popular topics - maids, what to cook for lunch/dinner, update on family events, which family member said what, when, where and why...

No doubt at times I wondered the need for Amma to call so often. I told myself she's growing older and therefore the need to talk more. Many times I would get irritated at the number of calls - especially when I had other things to keep my life busy. But the amazing thing was that through these conversations, I learnt many a life's lessons from her. Our discussions about what was happening in our lives or another's life - often the point of view she brought up would make me see the matter in a different light. I also rely on her judgement - on people, on money matters, on handling relationships and most of all on raising a child. 

I like to believe that I grow up a little more when Amma and I talk.

Here's to you Amma - happy Mother's Day. Thanks for everything and I hope one day my daughter and I can share something similar.