Celebration

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

One more Diwali this year.

I think, the craze diminishes with age, especially if you don’t have children to enjoy with, it is not like those Diwali days of yester years when we were kids.

This year it wore a subdued mood.

Best Diwali was celebrated during those days when mom was alive. It had a different meaning then. Mom would start cleaning the house fifteen days before the D-day, which would be followed by shopping for new clothes, then making sweets, distributing to family and friends and finally the prayers, with plenty of gifts exchanged, some of them recycled. There would be lots of crackers and fireworks, mud lamps were placed at every window sill in the house and balconies would be lit with colorful bulbs. We would have continuous stream of guests, and of course lots of phone calls from relatives who lived abroad.

But, after mom, nothing is same.

With 90% of my older relatives dead and gone, the few that are left, they live in their own world.

Cleaning is done by maids, sweets and savories purchased from the stores and shopping is just a norm. We are shopping all year round so this is just another day.

I walk downstairs to meet the kids in my building compound and they are bursting expensive rockets. ‘How much did you pay for this 30 seconds pleasure?” I ask their father as I see the rocket go up in the sky and burst into thousand spraklers "Don’t even mention, it burns our heart and our pocket” they say “We have paid through our nose” and their kids looked at them with crinkled nose trying to understand what we meant and I tell them “Beta, you don’t understand how difficult the times are now, wait for 20 years and you will understand”

The children continue to derive the pleasure of bursting more crackers, those bigger strings of 2000 noisy crackers and I pause for a longer time to complete my unfinished sentence.

I am proud of the blinking red-rose shaped bulbs, which runs parallel to string of colored bigger bulbs and then there is one more string of hundred tiny green bulbs running across my balcony grill in the zigzag fashion. I am elated each time I go to my balcony to admire them, and then suddenly...Oh No! It is raining heavily, wetting my extension cord. It never used to rain during Diwali . Global warming! Bah! It is darkness again.

I recieve many SMS's, people sending me the forwards with no originality or personal touch. I do the same. All my friends are on social media and they all wish me on Face-book. No postman arrives with a greeting card. (when they come for Diwali bakshis they have an embarrassed look) All of my NRI family is on a smart phone and they exchange virtual sweets, jokes and greetings, but nobody calls to wish…no warm voice I hear. Every body’ messages I read on line and smile…alone.

I am glad that I do have family and friends towards whom I can stretch and reach physically.

I eat, pray and love during Diwali for sometime with them, offline

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The long wait

The wait was long. Almost nine months. My sister waited for her first grandchild.


I waited patiently looking at her DIL’s tummy as it bloated each month. And when she spoke of the child’s movement, she complained about the activity of the baby inside her womb.

“I think he is playing football” she would say.

“How do you know it’s a boy or a girl? It could be 'she' stretching out of discomfort” said I.

“Well, from the boisterous activity that is going on inside my tummy, it cannot be a girl” she said

She wanted to know the sex of the child.

“What does it matter?” I said

“I need to shop for the baby, don’t know if it’s blue or pink.” So much planning before the child is born. She bought clothes in yellows and greens but posponed the purchase of the baby cot.

And finally he arrived….a baby boy…

There was too much excitement in the family, everybody congratulating on entry of a new member in the family, too much activity, more than one could see during football season.

But he looked so serene and calm, cannot believe he had so much activity in there.

The new life has just begun. It’s a miracle. Really!!!

Furious Critter

Last night my room-mate Smitha, came running into my room, screaming, “There is a flying cockroach in my room.” She said

“Kill it”, I said

“No! I am afraid, Please come and you kill it” she said

"What are afraid of such a tiny thing? If you were in China you could have sold these by dozens" I said

But actually, I am afraid too. Its very sight is so disgusting, That chocolatee brown body with those menacing whiskers, more ferocious than Ram Gopal Verma film heroes but I was not to show my cowardice in front of my room mate who had great faith in me. She trusted me to solve her problems so I bravely went to the battle field. The cockroach was flying in all directions, a tiny helicopter type species. I armed myself with pesticide spray and stood at one corner of the room, and sprayed from a distance. The spray filtered through my nostrils, I covered my nose and didn’t see cockroach getting furious. It flew in my direction, I heard the whoosh closer to my ears as it brushed against my ear-lobes then flew back in opposite direction and Smitha screamed. I threw the tin on the floor and climbed up on the bed, covering my ears, hopping on the soft bed, lost my balance and down I was on my butt, unable to move. The pesticide was playing its tricks on cockroach too, it fell down next to me on its back with his feet doing the latest aerobics, swinging its tiny feet in the air and spinning round and round.

I slowly crawled a bit further away, so as not to disturb the spinning cockroach. “Your hours are numbered” I told the cockroach showing my tight fist and slid away on my bruised butt away from this critter.

But this one belonged to some Pathan species, very, very strong, had a great will power to survive and would not die easy. It kept swinging its eight arms/feet in such a way that it suddenly turned over and started walking, like a drunkard. Smitha screamed again, “look, it is not dead” she said

“Okay, bring the slippers and kill it now, just crush it under your feet” I said, gritting my teeth, feeling the genes of Naxalites crawling under my skin.

“No! I shall not kill.” she said wriggling her nose, very devoted to her PETA clan

“Kill or it shall walk up to your bed and come and sleep with you” I said trying to instill the fear in her.

“No!” she screamed again as the cockroach turned to walk towards her direction.

She waited far away and watched attentively, following its every movements. TV programs forgotten, hunger vanished and internet was idle. Such undivided, focussed concentration! I think if she meditated on the cockroach for next one hour she might have reached Nirvana.

The critter walked slowly, aimlessly, its wings loosely dragging from its flesh. It seemed like it had wardrobe malfunction. It walked from room to room, parading with caution, until it went under the bed in the living room and disappeared.

Smitha spent the restless night unsure of her safety. When she slept for a little while, she dreamt about the cockroach that had come back with the army of hundred critters to get their revenge.

Early morning, I swept off corpse.

How they make perfect omelets

Do You know to make an omelet? Ask the professional to make it for you. Smart move!!

If you can read the pictures you may follow the procedure.

During my recent trip to Darjeeling, mornings I looked forward to ‘live’ breakfast…haahaha. That’s what the food counter said…’Live Breakfast’ and live was that chef would make for you the omelet the way you like…half fry-sunny side up or plain omelet. I would always ask for same omelet with lots of chillies and onions, although there was a great variety of food on display, I had no appetite to eat any other spicy, heavy stuff like puri bhaji, idli sambar, or any other delicacies so early in the mornings. Normally at home, my breakfast is just a glass of fresh juice. But since I was on holiday, and since I didn’t have to make the breakfast for myself, (yeah, I am too lazy sometimes) I was okay with having breakfast in the mornings. But everyday I stuck to the same menu: egg omelet, baked potatoes, salad and fresh juice; and that kept me cheerful till the lunch time.

While I ate, I couldn’t help looking at other tables and would be surprised with the amount of food that people could eat at every meal. Their plates would be overflowing with food and it got me thinking that must we abuse our stomach just because we have paid for a buffet meals??? Is it so important to taste every dish on display at every meal??? I would watch them help themselves with assorted meals second time, and sometimes third servings!!!

One of our friends in the group was a Jain, and her strict diet of ‘no root’ vegetable restricted her meals. She would order special meals for herself and while she waited for those special meals, she would start munching on bread, jam, sweet dish, fruits and everything that was permitted by her religion. When the food arrived, it would be of big quantity and although she would over eat, still most of it would go waste. At every meal, she would attract attention to herself and throw temper tantrums, (much to our embarrassment) if they didn’t provide her food on time.

I fail to understand why people give so much importance to food. For me, food is just a necessity to remain healthy. If chanced upon eating good food in a fancy restaurant, I might relish, but for me, simple home cooked meal is a delightful treat.

Visit to Goddess Kali Temple in Kolkata

As soon as we got off the car, few pundits surrounded us, offering us their service by praying for us for a fee. What special way would they pray for me that Mata Kali would listen to them instead of direct communication with me? I shooed them away, preferring a direct interview with Goddess Kali.

There were narrow lanes leading to Kali temple. Every shop wanted us to deposit our foot-wear with them. I was not willing to walk bare foot down those lanes. There was too much dirt, filth, used flowers, junk and water at some places. I ignored all the shop keepers until I reached the entrance of the temple. Here was this lady selling big garland of flowers, holding in her hand like some heavy weight champion. I bought the garland from her for just Rs10 and deposited my foot wear with her.

Bare footed, I walked inside the temple, through the dirty path. My feet itched at every step. I could feel the crushing of flowers under my feet, the juice sticking under my soles, the floor was slippery and I held on to stone-wall for support, taking smaller steps, trying to maintain my balance. The garland was a bit too long and although I had folded it around my arm, it dangled under my knee. One flower-seller wanted me to buy some more flowers from him. He said that the flowers garland that I was carrying had touched the ground and that I needed to discard it. He kept repeating, telling me the Goddess Kali would be upset with my carelessness if I offered her ‘dirty’ flowers that had touched the ground, but I ignored him. I walked toward the idol and pundit grabbed the garland from my hand and held my arm. He pulled me in front of the idol and asked me to give some money. Why was he asking me for money? If I wanted to donate some cash, I would do so without anybody forcing me. I looked at the idol of Goddess Kali, a large black stone with large white eyes, surrounded by flowers and brocade, flashy clothes, I closed my eyes, looking for a image of my Lord within my mind and offered my silent prayers and suddenly I was pushed aside to make way for new devotees. The place was too crowded, sweat clinged to me and it felt as if the message was that if I was not willing to part with my money then it was better that I moved aside. Was Goddess Kali angry with me for not parting with my cash? In crowded place, I don’t normally open my purse. I reasoned out that Goddess Kali would understand and would not punish me for my stingy behavior. I walked with the guilt towards exit.

Guilt disturbed me. A thought lingered that the punishment would be severe. I was afraid. I prayed again. I turned back and walked to the sweet shop. I bought 100 grams pedas. I spoke to Goddess Kali telling her that I had spent the money by buying the sweets from a person who was trying to earn a living. I had given him the business of Rs20. Surely Goddess Kali should be happy with me. The Rs20 that I had not inserted into her charity box was instead put into box of the person who was working hard. I was being fair. Goddess Kali should be pleased with my intelligent spending.

Guilt free, I popped the pedas into my mouth, one by one.

Birthday Cake

I have never ever cut a cake for my birthday in my life. It’s the thing that I would hate to do, actually it is quite embarrassing for me to do, I have always asked a child standing next to me to cut it for me. But I love baking and decorating cakes. I have decorated cakes with creams, fruits, chocolates and they have always been traditional round or square in shape. Sometimes I have tried few innovative kinds like 2-tier or 3- tier and sometime chopped them into different shapes before icing. But I have always baked them for kids,

But now the kids have grown up and they are no more amused by simple shapes. I was surprised today when I saw this cake

Wow! A cake in the shape of boobs, covered with Bra and tits visible !!! hahaha!, and mind you, it is a vegetarian truffle chocolate cake, specially made for two taureans who are celebrating today. Oh why wasn’t I there to see their expressions, this is something I wouldn’t like to miss., I am sure that these boys who are going to cut these boobs will get naughty and for all we know, they might even enjoy a facial with this one.

Mother's Day

Everybody was screaming on all social networks the wishes, the quotes, some digging into thier archives to find wishes for this day, many of them sendng wishes on the net to their mom who is sitting in the next room. Virtually mothers enjoyed gifts, cakes and even virtual hugs. The flowers were sent, gift bought for mothers who were not net-savvy, who were then treated for a lunch and movie.

Umarried, I have never biologically mothered any child but, I have seen many children grow, who have played in my lap, I have mothered them all, my sisters' brothers' cousins' kids  my eyes still look for those babies who are not there....lost into the adulthood

And I was surprised when I too recieve wishes from some of them and it was a good feeling.

Many years ago, when Mom and I were staying with my brother's family, my brother's kids were very attached to me. On mothers' day they bought gifts for their mother and my brother and I bought gifts for my mother. Since I was mother to none, I didn't recieve any gifts. My four-year-old nephew, was very upset that his dadima  and his mom recieved gifts and his aunt didn't recieve any, so he comes up to me and asks me, "When is the aunts' day coming? I want to buy a gift for you too."

Well aunt's day is still not celebrated anywhere, though they will still remain all time favorites. I used to love all my aunts and I still miss them long after they are not here anymore.

Aunt's love is the extention of mother's love but it needs a special day too. haha!

Sorry for using a word .....

....that you don’t understand, but Lexulous does and so does the scrabble. Try it.

Scrabble and Lexulous are the games that are played online, mainly on Facebook. I play it regularly usually as a detour from my regular task of reading and blogging. With strangers I don’t enjoy the game but I like playing with friends, with whom I can chitchat and keep in touch. I have made many good friends on scrabble board and on Lexulous and have been regularly in touch with them. Actually, these games allow many weird words that we will never find in our text books, the trick is to place your letters, sometimes guessing a word, hoping that lexulous or scrabble will understand and voila, sometimes it does. But if it is at the expense of annoying my friends, then that gets me really stressed out because I really hate losing friends. I have very few friends and all very precious, wouldn’t like them to go off at a tangent over a game, which is just a game.

For me winning/losing is not the criteria, I just like to make the best word that I can. I have been playing this game for many years, precisely for more than twenty-five years. The first time I saw this game was during my trip abroad and I was fascinated by tiny wooden tiles. I played that game immediately and lost miserably but fell in love with it. I bought my first scrabble board, a tiny travel board with tiny tiles and holes on the board to fix the tiles ( this board and tiles, neatly saved and restored, are still lying at my home in Tenerife, Spain, hibernating and they come alive only when I visit my family)

During my college years, I taught this game to all my friends and we would play this game non-stop for days and sometimes all night. We allowed dictionary so that we could learn new words and we always played for fun; snacking and fooling in-between games. Over the years, I learnt some tricks on how to confuse the opponent and win the game. I taught those tricks to my friends too who would use it against me and make me lose. In Mumbai, I joined scrabble club, where we would play it regularly and even participated in many scrabble tournaments, much of which I lost. But I was never offended if I lost and always came out stronger each time.

Most of the time it is pure luck that we may get good combination to be able to make seven-letter word which gives an impressive score. It is not the deciding factor for showing off the intelligence or word power, nor are there any laurels to be won. The opponents who play with me regularly are equally good, and they do have impressive scores and rankings, so there is nothing to feel egoist about winning. But most of the time I am lucky. (maybe because I am unlucky in love. Huh?) I have some friends who continue to play with me and before one game ends they have already started a new one. They tell me that it is challenging playing with me and I get aggressive too.

But lately I have been offending my friends by winning. Now I can’t play badly and let my friends win, can I? That will not be fair. I don’t understand why they get so discouraged by my winnings? Why can’t they get aggressive and fight back? Why do they have give up on me? Must they always win and play with only those whom they can beat easily? Don’t they like challenges any more?

And why do I get stressed out if they give up on me? Now that is the question I need to introspect.

Diamonds are not forever

Finally I gave up my fetishism on diamonds.

It was difficult at first, what with me belonging to the culture (I am Sindhi) where diamonds play an important deciding factor for placing you at certain strata of society and earning that false respect. The bigger diamond meant a respectable position in Sindhi community, a front door entry to any important religious meetings, an admiring friend’s circle hovering around you, even though you might not part with a centimeter of your carat with them. Ah well.

But diamonds were my best friends, even though I could not compete with my rich cousins. Every time, my cousins flashed their real diamond jewelry I would secretly wish to buy me a better stuff. But my limited budget allowed me to live within my means (as my mom would often say, not to destroy my shack by building castles in air). Nevertheless, by the time, I reached middle age, I had enough of everything. Enough I say because I was satisfied with what I had, and I had everything in diamonds: ear-rings, rings, bracelets, watches, bangles, necklace, pendants, though not those big, huge carats, nah, they were not as impressive as my rich cousin’s booties, but was decent enough, some gifted by my mom, aunts, sisters, some inherited and some, I know not how they arrived at my tijori. I had planned to buy me some more really big ones, those fancy ones that you see in the shopping window, hoping some day in future (when I became truly Richie rich) I would own that too, until one day, suddenly my taste took a U-turn from gaudy to subtle, and it was thinking whether it was really so important to carry such heavy stuff on my neck and on my ear lobes that was dangling so much with its weight that I need doctor’s help to prevent it from becoming a torn chappati. I decided that I don’t really need it. Specially since it was also giving me unnecessary stress.

Now let me explain. What use is wearing all those real diamond-sets that cover your every possible skin so much, that people cannot see you beyond those glittering stones? And you are so busy flashing them, that your topic of conversation is limited to fashion and shopping, while your subconscious mind is eagerly waiting for the compliment that may not arrive from your envious friends. And then you are always living in fear of losing your possessions so much so that you become too obsessive in guarding them. You become vigilant about your cupboard keys and are always hiding the keys in such odd places that you cannot find them yourself. And when you have misplaced it somewhere, you start suspecting everybody: Your maid, your guest, your friend. Okay, you will tell me that I can keep them in bank locker. Then what the bloody hell is the use of freezing them if I cannot wear them? You advice me that it is important to save it for the bad times. So should I wait for those bad times when I can happily cash out diamonds and release them from lockers?

Instead of spending money on diamonds and freezing them in lockers, I have discovered a better value for money. Investing the money in proper way in funds and bonds and see it grow, yielding regular dividends gives special kind of pleasure. It is fun to travel with that extra cash in style. Buy some luxury items to enhance the atmosphere: nice bed spread, good curtains, jacuzzi. And sharing the excess cash with less fortunate and winning their million dollar smile is an heavenly experience.

Also, I am enjoying shopping for artificial costume jewelry, nothing flashy but classic, yes. I like that. No worries about guarding it, hiding it, storing. If it gets lost, I don’t care, I get one more reason to buy another one. I can now concentrate on reading and on other things that I can truly enjoy.

And to enjoy the company of people who can see and hear, just me.

Here and There

My friend tells me that she wants to go out of Mumbai with me for few days. I am reminded of the last trip that we went out, and am thinking whether I should go for the next one with her, again?

"Where do you want to go?" I ask her wondering why she ever wants to go anywhere. During our last trip, all she wanted to do was eat, shop or sleep. She wasn’t very much interested in looking around. Our taste differs in every way, but she is just content to go out with me and my friends.

Not that I mind, actually I do like it, I do like to spend time with my friends, I like to talk of thing here and there, share some jokes and learn something from each other’s experiences, but what I like the most is the adventure of trying something new. When we go to a new place, I want to visit the museums, see the new culture, taste the local food, and meet the natives to talk about their common issues. There is certain kind of energy that creeps into my body during the trips out of station. I am able to adjust to all the unavoidable discomfort, but not she.

And, my main problem is the time factor. I am not an early bird. When I wake up, she has already finished her morning walk, had her bath and breakfast, is dressed tip-top from head to toe and is walking impatiently in the room, left, right, left, right, waiting for me to rise. Can’t blame her if she is tired by the time I am done with bath. I always skip the breakfast and we go out for lunch. I don’t like shopping and walking aimlessly, but she does.

What we do together is sit and chat till late nights, play some board games or other creative games, and laugh a lot. In the group of eight, if all are not same, we are not annoyed.

But is that the reason enough to plan the next trip???

Old age Blues

Off late, I have been highly disturbed by the plight of old people and I keep worrying about my own old age. Will I age gracefully or will I be a vegetable? Every palm reader has informed me of ripe old age, but would I like to live too long?? I believe they are cursing me. What else should I say? If I were to live to be very, very old, will I be as healthy as I am today? Not that I am perfectly healthy today, but I have got so used to living with continuous pain all my life that I cease to care.

But the pain I see in the senior people's life puts me into a depression mode. The other day, I was talking to this 65 year old woman. In her youth she worked as a lecturer of History and then graduated as an accountant in her brother's export house. Five years ago, she retired and has been depressed since then. With her deteriorating eye sight, she cannot read, her frail health (arthritis) has stalled her day-to-day activities. The only healthy organ in her body is her tongue, which is the source of sorrow to her happiness and to others too. She complains that nobody ever spends much time with her and she finds her days, way too long. I suggested old age home to her, where she could find company with her like-minded people but her family members were aghast by such suggestion.

In India, old people require too much attention and only a dedicated volunteer is able to give that kind of attention. But in times like these, there is scarcity of dedicated volunteers too. In Indian society, it is a disgrace to sent away your aging parents to an old-age home as a result the personal life of family members suffers. One of my close friends had to resign from her steady and secure job (of teaching special children in Dubai) to take care of her ailing mother who is suffering from Parkinson's disease and her father, who cannot see clearly. Her life revolves around her parents; her dedication towards them is amazing. It requires lot of sacrifices, she has neither any social life, nor movies, nor late nights, nor long walks alone by the sea-shore, nor does she have time to read a book! Many times, I see her highly depressed and I suggest her to do some short term course so that she can keep herself up-to-date, but she has no time to learn or attend any workshop.

In Europe it is different. During my regular visits to Spain, I find old people happy and enjoying every moment of their lives. I meet them at the beaches, at the clubs, and even at beauty parlors. They take good care of themselves, live on their own and are fashionably dressed. Some of them even have a novio(boyfriend) The state looks after their needs and they are treated like royalty. They have active senior citizen groups who go regularly on state sponsored trips. Even the sick and weak one is well cared for. The family members don't have to sacrifice their personal lives to volunteer their help. Last year, when I was admitted in the hospital for my broken arm, I was sharing a room with an old woman. Her laughter was so contagious that it had nurses and care takers in splits.

I am not saying that all old people in Europe are cheerful and all old people in India are depressed. It's just the attitude of the people. There were some sad ones there too who sat by their window, gazing at the empty street but those were very few. They are not like Indians, whose second nature is to worry and take unnecessary stress of things they cannot control and whine in self-pity over their incapability. European are more open and receptive. Maybe, it's the clean air, good food and quality of life style which keep them cheerful, the acceptance of living independently and not taking unnecessary stress of the family who are grown-ups now, or/and, of letting go of the responsibility of the household and a desire to enjoy the rest of the life in peace.

I don't wish to live in Europe, I like living in India, but that is the attitude I wish to maintain when I come of age. But can we live with that kind of attitude in India? Can we really live a stress free life?

Do you think old age is a curse???? What would you do to make your own old age interesting????

Can cold and cough really kill….

And now that I am Mumbai, in my home town, after such a long gap, I thought I would start enjoying myself…but nature has some other plans for me.. The change in weather has played tricks on me.. It was too cold out there in Spain and it is too hot here back home…and my body first shrinks and shivers in Spain in cold then expands and bleeds with sweat in the heat of Mumbai and then is confused and then attacks me with flu, cough and cold, my great nightly companions, keeping me awake all night. But I am lucky. In Mumbai, we have doctor in every lane, every alternate building will allow a doctor to open their clinic in a garage. We can try one doctor for a day or two, and if you are not feeling better, you can change the doctor with no questions asked. In Spain, it was different. For ordinary sickness such as cold and flu, you can either visit a pharmacy, who will examine you and prescribe a medicine or you visit an expensive private clinic. There are hospitals too, but there are long queues there and doctors may or may not report to work. Private clinic are so expensive that you will not visit him more than once. So, coming back to my illness, it has extended over ten days now and I have tried all the remedies, changed two doctors and popped N number of pills. I have tried salt water gargle, honey brewed with ginger, sanitized my bedroom with sun and Dettol. Tried every remedy to cure myself, but this stubborn illness will not leave my domain. Will it really kill me? I hope not.

Hospitals in Tenerife

Last week I had a pain on my right arm. The pain started from my shoulders and walked slowly down to my elbow and then gripped my arm. My sedentary life of just sitting in front of a shiny glass, seeing the virtual world pass by, was playing tricks on me. I needed exercise. I realised that I am not going for long walks, nor doing any manual work. I was just eating and stuffing my body with spicy food and letting the body do all the work. My body was sending signal for help. I needed to see the doctor. Thus began my trips to Tenerife hospitals. I got the appointment to see the doctor for consultation after one full week and was able to see him at his clinic after one hour wait. The doctor is quite efficient here and he spends lot of time, examining me. I am afraid of his pronouncing a heart disease. I have a family history and I am damn scared to go through an operation of any kind. He prescribes me blood and urine test and direct me to the heart specialist. Two days later, I reach the hospital at 8am for my blood test. The hospital is clean and spotless filled with people who are well dressed. Spanish people pay lot of attention to the details and would never be seen shabbily dressed at any hour of the day. There is a ticket counter on the wall of the clinic, where you pluck out your number. You sit relaxed staring at the counter on the opposite wall, waiting for your number to flash your turn. The blood test and the urine test arrive to your home by fax. There is a sharp rise in my cholesterol and sugar and it is difficult to get an appointment for heart specialist. I am told to report to hospital without an appointment under emergency case. The heart specialist visits the hospital only once a week. After four days, I am back in the hospital, at 8am, this time outside heart specialist clinic. There are about twenty people waiting for the doctor to arrive, many of them with the appointment done three months in advance. We wait for two hours but doctor does not arrive. Finally, at 10am the nurse apologizes for the absence of doctor to work and advises us to secure a new appointment for the next week, which might already have thirty patients on his waiting list. Disappointed and pursed lipped, the heart patients head back home, without any secured treatment or consultation. I head towards a costly private clinic-

Dinner at ´La Centinela´

In Icod de los Vinos, the North of the island of Tenerife, there is a popular Canarian restaurant, La Centinela, the Asador, that everybody is talking about. They say that it serves the best roasted chicken. My family and I visit this restaurant during the dinner time. The place is quite crowded and we wait for our turn. We get our table for six people after 15 minutes wait and immediately on seating, before we can place our order, a bread basket arrives with two aniseed bread and four small butter packets. We place the order of roasted chicken and roasted pork, while munching on bread and butter. My brother and his wife are veggie and there is not much selection for them to order except salad, white cheese and fried potatoes. While we wait for the order, my gaze shifts to the clean walls that have various painting of sceneries and art work of Tenerife. There is a bar on one side, where people are having their drink while waiting for their tables. There are two TV’s installed on two corners of the restaurant. Canarian are very fond of watching Foot ball match and the restaurants that have TV are normally populated with diners. On the next table, opposite me, there is a group of four people, two females and two males. I see them dipping their bread in one common plate of mutton gravy that they have ordered while they wait for their roasted chicken to arrive. (Why didn’t I think of that?) The presentation of food is good. Roasted chicken is served with fried potatoes and salad. There is a special mojo, (a memorable sauce,), served with potatoes, that has a very tangy taste. Spanish don’t eat chillies at all, nor any chutneys. Only a mild tobasco is served with the meals. For five euro a dish, the presentation and the service is good, however, the chicken is not as juicy as I had expected. It is over cooked and hard, and without spices it is like eating a boiled meat coated with a brown, slimy garment. It is difficult for me to finish it but a pleasant surprise for my dog who is pleased to bless me for the bland food which is perfectly healthy for him.

Rakhi Day

After a gap of three years, I am in Tenerife for this year’s Rakhi day. I had planned to make a nice one (I prefer to make them rather than to buy from market)..Ready made rakhis don’t have that personal touch….but since my injured right hand refused to cooperate I just made kaju sweets with my niece’s help and tied those Rakhis that were posted from India by my other two sisters.(My brother never removes them till they come off by itself and I put just one, on behalf of all three sisters) Rakhi is such an important day on Hindu calendar (How do Europeans and Americans express their affection for their siblings?) and Hindu woman remembers and blesses her brother on this special day. It is the day to remind her brothers to be alert and help his sister when the need arises. Personally thinking, I don’t need this day of tying the thread to remind my brother, and expecting cash and snatching it. I am quite sure that my brother is there for me whenever I need him (he has never let me down). My festival lasts just two minutes. It is just tie and dye event. I would be too embarrassed to put tikka, do aarti and chant rhymes like in films. I cannot do that. I cannot spell affection. I will make my brother’s favourite dish, help him if he needs my help and be within the easy reach for communication but I don’t utter dialogues that a script writer would be interested. I cannot. For me, it is just important that he should be happy. I would not do anything which would cause him grief. I am always amused by the way people celebrate this festival. It is a great business stunt for many and a great day to see the cash flow from the jingle boxes of card sellers, rakhi sellers, sweets shops and now, networks. On facebook, tuenti, hi5 and other social networks, you see pictures that are clicked especially for sharing with friends. Brothers can now enjoy a well dressed sister with a silver tray containing flowers, rakhi, diya and vermillion, she will bless her brother khule aam…lets the world watch while she ties a sacred bond.

Living in a civilised soceity

Nikita and Haresh Mehta sought judicial redress for aborting their unborn baby who has been diagnosed with a congenital heart block and the whole world is peeping into their court rooms and passing their own verdict. The child will be born with a hole in heart. A person with a hole in heart can lead a normal life, but the problem is, one will get tired very fast as compared to normal persons. Now-a-days after a surgery, a pacemaker can be planted in the heart, battery of which lasts for 10 years. Generally speaking, people with any kind of deformity (physical or mental) are always treated differently. Either they are ignored completely or they are pampered to the extreme. Equal opportunities do not come easy to them and time and time again, they have to keep proving their ability to fit into a proper slot. Deformity is a block that blinds the society to recognise true talent instantly. It is very easy for others to pass the verdict and treat them (Mehtas) like criminals, but I have met many mothers of severely mentally challenged children. Many times, mothers are blamed for the deformity of the child and are treated badly by their in-laws. Lower income makes them dependent on sponsors for medicine and education for all their life. Some of them have zero social life and they go through emotional depression and become incapable of looking after their children. Having any kind of deformity is a life time punishment, not only for an individual, but also for the parents. It is very painful for a mother to see her child suffer. Even though Mehtas do have some help like Jaslok Hospital has promised to provide a pacemaker, worth close to Rs 1 lakh, and free surgery for their baby, but is that enough? Will they have a life time financial support for the child? Who are we to presume to lecture the Mehtas from the smugness of our normalcy? Separating the chaff from grain is always tough.

Visit to Playa San Marco

¨¨I don’t wish to go too far, a small drive will do¨ I tell my brother as I make myself comfortable in his car. We drive through the steep slope, pass through ancient Drago trees, a rich agricultural landscape and descend to the sheltered harbour down to San Marco beach surrounded by breathtaking scenery. Tenerife’s beaches have got the lot with plenty of nudist, black sand and golden sand beaches off the beaten track to suit; provided you know where to look…and Playa San Marco is the beach very close to my house, although quite far from the city. The peculiar thing about San Marco is its black shiny sand. The weather is cooler in this part of the island and therefore it is less crowded than the other beaches. It is mainly visited by locals. Some 70’s style apartment blocks on one side of the beach don’t make for the prettiest of vistas, but this small beach, beside a fishing harbour and backed by fish restaurants, has a certain charm. These restaurants are well known for their fish and Spanish rice dish called Paella It’s set in a sheltered inlet, which makes it suitable for kids. Although it is late evening, there are many people still soaking in water. Stunning vistas always impress; however, they’re pretty much an essential of any decent walk. The real ‘well I’ll go to the foot of the stairs’ moments are the unexpected surprises, especially when they’re to be found only a hop, skip and a jump away. Slowly and carefully I walk down towards the even path to reach the restaurants. There is a small church tucked between the restaurants. My niece informs me that it is regularly visited by locals and during San Marco fiestas, there is much activity here. We wait for a coffee as we watch the sun set down into waters, behind the hills. I glance in my watch, the sun has disappeared and the sky has all shades of red and blue and it is 9 30 pm.

Now Pappu should learn to dance too....tsk! tsk!

The lyrics of the song “Pappu can’t dance sala” of the film 'Jaane tu..na Janne na..(sung by Blaze, Mohd. Aslam, Tanvi, Anupama Deshpande, Benny Dayal,Darshana, Satish Subramanium) is getting quite popular and has everyone dancing on its music except Pappu and it has interesting words too that is something like... Pappu is Popular, a muscular, a bachelor, spectacular Driving girls crazy With blue eyes, like English man In fast cars A Rado watch A Gucci perfume But Pappu can’t dance. Oh Halla! Tirkit tana tirkit tana teeri tana let’s dance Tirkit tana tirkit tana teeri tana let’s dance But, What has Pappu to say about that? Should we be careful in selecting names? My friend tells me that people with names such as Pappu or Baby never grow up and it is an embarrassment to their families when they are grown ups, and their childish behavior never change. Few years ago, we had ads on chocolates, in which Pappu had passed his exams and whole town was celebrating his success because he was an adult and had finally passed after many years of failures. All other smarter Pappu were apologetic. Also there was another ad which abused the name ‘Hari’ It said H for Hitler, A for Arrogant, R for Rascal, I for Idiot. One parent complained that his son (his name Hari) was continuously harassed by his peers and he wanted the ad to be striked off the network. It is strange that I have never met any person with the name ‘Pran. Maybe the parents were afraid that their son would turn out to be a villain as the character in films. Media and films have channelled our pattern of thinking. Few months ago, my friend was searching a name for her dark-skinned daughter-in-law, I suggested ´Saloni´ and she refused to talk to me for days….. So, do the names really matter? Does ‘Himmat Singh’ really have courage? Will Relax Singh ever find a job? And how do we say a polite goodbye to Tata in native Hindi language? I'm trying to get to the idea of whether such superstitions exist or are they merely fabrication. You can get many or most people to agree on whether some things are bad or good on grounds of selection of their names. Other things tend to be more difficult to gain consensus on. But the ground of wrong or right, if such a thing exists, must find its feet beyond human judgment. And what about this craze of selecting the brand name? Any close reference to the brand name sends our antenna up. If we cannot afford to buy ‘Sony’ brand, then we will buy Sunny or Sonny….so closely are we attached to the brand names. And finally we have Ekta kappor who Kares not for Korrect spelling and starts all her serials konnected with names strictly with ‘K’ I don't even care whether she's right. I just don't like the idea that someone with so little integrity and such narrow thoughts could hold so much sway. If consciousness does have an independent evolutionary trajectory, we can only hope that this world will one day be no more than fossils in the museum of intellectual history.

Immigrants

Tenerife is a beautiful place and over last 15 years, there have been lots of new constructions everywhere. The booming economy needs manual labourers, and many foreign tourists who come to Tenerife, stay back to fill those jobs. Last year, many of Latin Americans who, entered the country as tourist, were given residency permits as the government called an amnesty for illegal immigrants with job contracts. But there are many more immigrants who risk their life and enter the country illegally. These immigrants are mainly from neighbouring countries such as Senegal and Morocco. They brave the high seas in small fishing boats and reach the beaches of Tenerife in pitiful state. Most of them are sent back after they are brought back to health, but some of them manage to creep into the city and live in miserable condition, working on low wages. Is it worth risking one’s life and living in fear in a foreign land? So many of them never reach the shores and many are too weak to go back. Few months ago, when I was in Africa, I saw the locals very contented in their own land. They were poor but they all had a smile on their faces. They seemed happy. Being with our own kind gives a great pleasure but economic needs, if not satisfied in our own country can give us so much pain. I have noticed this everywhere, that the foreigners always make more money than the natives. Maybe we are careless in our own land but are wiling to work hard for others. I think if the government paid more attention to their own country men and created more incentive for their own people, nobody would find the need to cross the borders to decorate the neighbour’s lands.

Main streets of Icod de Los Vinos

Icod de Los Vinos is a small village in the North of the island famous for its tourist attraction. It is famous for its Drago Milenario, which is a dragon tree believed to be of 1000 years old, and it also has a butterfly centre called Mariposario. Many tourist visit Icod de los Vinos to see these 2 main attractions. There is no big mall in Icod, however there are 2 main shopping lanes in Icod de los Vinos: Calle San Agustin and Calle San Sebastian that are right angles to each other separated by a town hall to its corners. The lanes are full of small shops that cater to the locals. Most of the shops are run by women. It is a small town where everybody knows each other and the shoppers will wait for a long chat if they visit your store.