Returning home from the Kala Ghoda festival on a Harbour line train, I felt light and content. I had had an enjoyable day. Plus, the fact that I got a train as soon as I got to VT, and got a good seat to boot, contributed in deepening my sense of contentment. If I had been a cat I would definitely have sat there purring. :)

And then something happened - an incident which I can only term as faintly disturbing, but nonetheless, something that refuses to leave my thoughts.

At Mankhurd, the crowd in the train had thinned considerably. A woman got in with a small girl of 7 years or so, and headed for the seat behind mine. "Shabbo, yahan aajao beta," she called to her daughter. Shabbo, obviously a bold girl with a mind of her own, came and stood near our seat instead, asking my neighbour at the window seat, "Aap kahan utrenge?". The woman said Sanpada, and Shabbo called out, "Ammi, main yahin baithoongi."

Her mother attempted a couple of more times to make her come and sit near her, but to no avail. I was starting to like the spirit of this girl!

Sanpada came, and Shabbo sat down next to me. She had a cute, expressive face, and as our eyes met, I smiled. She smiled right back, and we struck up a conversation. 

"Tumhara naam kya hai," I asked.

"Aapka naam kya hai?" she retorted.

"Shabbo," said I, with a mischievous look. An old trick, and one that never fails to amuse. I had attempted this ruse many a times to strike a friendship with a kid.

But in this case, it drew a reaction quite different from what I had expected. There was no dropped jaws and a surprised "Aapko kaise pata!", no indignant reaction saying "Nahi, woh toh mera naam hai!"... instead, she responded in a faintly pleased tone:

"Aap Musalman ho!?" 

To say I was taken aback totally with this response, would be an understatement. It felt like she had landed a juicy one on my solar plexus. I tried to think how to answer, and she repeated, in a slightly more pressing tone, "Musalman ho aap?"

I finally smiled rather lamely and said, "Nahi," in some strange way feeling I had disappointed her. "Aur mera naam Shabbo nahi hai - woh toh tumhara naam hai naa?"

We then continued the conversation for another 2-3 minutes, when suddenly she glanced back at her mother, who had obviously somehow called her to attention. From where I was sitting I could not see her mother or what she did, but it was obviously some kind of warning to stem the conversation. When I tried to continue talking, Shabbo put her finger on her lips to indicate to me that I should keep quiet.

For some strange reason, this little exchange derailed the sense of contentment and harmony I had felt at the beginning of the journey.

A little later, as I got up and stood near the exit, our eyes met again. I smiled and waved to her. After a glance back to assure herself that her mother was not looking, Shabbo raised her hand gently to her waist level (so as not to draw her mother's attention, presumably), and waved back, with a slight twitching of the corners of her mouth which was just barely recognizable as a smile.

We parted friends, and the sense of disquiet that had crept over me a little while ago abated a bit.

But the incident has stayed with me and raised many questions. Would Shabbo's mother have stopped her from talking to me if my answer to her question had been different? Why did Shabbo feel compelled to obey her mother in the matter of carrying on a conversation with me, but not in the matter of choosing a seat? But most importantly, how could the first question coming to the head of a 7-year old in that situation be that particular one?!

Is it that bigotry is a lesson that can be learnt a bit too easily and too early in life by a child if people around are not careful...?

Gym Vim

Recently, I saw an ad recounting how a Complan Child grows much more rapidly than others. It reminded me that I had been in much the same position over the past few months – it had been a period of extremely rapid growth for me. With only one small difference – while the Complan Child gains rapidly in height, I had gained rapidly in girth! I had gained almost 10 kilos, that too almost exclusively around my middle :-/. People had started staring, and remarking with a sort of confused politeness, “You are looking .. errr.. healthy!” And that, as everyone in India knows, is Hinglish for “Oh boy, ARE you looking fat, or what!!”

Here are some statistics that drive home the point:

So, as it happens, for the first time in my life, I had to try and reverse this growth – I had to lose weight.

But how? Joining a gym was one option…

“Don’t join a gym,” advised my doctor. “They will make you do things you will get addicted to. Better stick to free hand exercises and long walks.”

“Don’t join a gym,” said my Ma. “They will fleece you!”

“Don’t join a gym,” said my husband. “You look cute this way too.”

“Don’t join a gym,” said my friend, Gautami. “Don’t you DARE lose those tyres – you belong to the ‘big league’ now– you are one of us!”

I joined a gym last week. It’s not that I wilfully wanted to go against the advice of almost everyone around me... somehow, I was convinced that those layers and layers of spare tyres would not go away by just walking and stretching a bit.

For the sake of economy and accessibility, I chose a gym close to my house. The equipment was rather dilapidated and the instructor was a mousey looking fellow with buck teeth and rather prominent biceps. As I started on the treadmill, I heard creaking sounds… I looked around with furrowed brow, thinking they were emanating from one or the other of the old machines surrounding me… but soon realised it was only my joints. They were more rusted and out of shape than all the old equipment around… :-/

Rusty equipment, rustier joints...

Having chosen a general time slot and not the ‘Ladies’ hours’ at the gym, I found all the others around me to be young guys whose purpose was quite different from mine. There were the body-builder types with bulging biceps, triceps and all the other kinds of ceps in the body.  There were skinny ones who after every bout of lifting weights gazed wistfully at their muscles as if to will them into prominence. And occasionally, there were the slightly plump ones - sweating it out on the treadmill, like me.

The mouse-with-biceps turned out to be quite a helpful bloke – I noticed him regularly and interestedly helping those who needed guidance on what exercises to do. Once in a while, he would even dole out some extra special treatment to us - giving a rather relaxing head massage, a sort of ‘champi’, while helping us do neck stretches after the work out! I found his diligence worthy of remark, since I know from experience that this is not always the case. A very expensive gym that I had joined briefly about 2 years ago, was well stocked with state-of-the-art equipment and numerous trainers. But the trainers would just loll around with the most disinterested air, coming to one’s aid reluctantly when specifically called upon to do so. The only thing that would galvanize them into action was when they spotted some new bakra at the gym, who could be induced to employ a ‘personal trainer’ (at a hefty extra cost, naturally!)

So at least for now I am rather glad that I did not go and join a very expensive gym where the rate at which you lose your money is faster than that at which you lose weight! I don’t know whether or not I can reverse the trends in Graphs 1 and 2, but right now I am having fun and look forward to my gym time daily. Now, let me go and look for that bottle of hair oil – I have been promised a proper ‘oil champi’ in my next session…

The Art of Laziness

Consider this scenario: You wake up with the sound of the alarm at 6 am or some such unearthly hour. The feeling inside you is 33.33% frustration, 33.33% anxiety and 33.33% anger against the world in general. You turn the alarm off and then turn over to take a snooze for 10 minutes before finally (and reluctantly) getting out of your bedclothes. A hurried brushing of teeth and other such stuff, and then it’s time to boot your laptop, to try and complete work pending from the previous day.  Breakfast gobbled up somehow, and then rushing off to work, all the time fearing you’ll miss the train/bus you need to catch and be marked late…

A long day at work, and then back home, dinner ingested, a few cursory words to the spouse and kids, and then to bed – with thoughts and worries related to work at the back of your mind at all times…

And the next morning, the same drill all over again…


The side effects of this kind of lifestyle: You tend to get tired.

Side effects of Lifestyle#1: Getting tired.

Now, consider this scenario: You wake up with the sound of your kids yelling out a ‘Bye Ma’ while going out to school. You manage a lazy half-shout - ‘Bye! Have fun!’, and then turn over in bed… content in the thought that you still have at least an hour’s sleep left…

If it happens to be a Saturday, it’s even nicer. After stretching your sleep to your heart’s content, you wake up and have a relaxed, unhurried breakfast. Then go for a walk in the hills with your daughter, soaking in the pleasant January sun. Stop at the hill top for a round of free hand exercises with her – bang in the middle of the road! (This would perhaps raise eyebrows on a normal city road, but we live in a sort of hamlet and there are very few walkers on this road.) Then walk down to a small park – and enjoy swinging gently on a swing under the shade of a banyan tree, while chatting about all kinds of things with your daughter…

The rest of the day is spent in doing a bit of writing, reading, cartooning, some shopping perhaps… and that most blissful of all blissful pastimes- an afternoon siesta! Come evening, have dinner with the family and then go for another long walk – this time with the spouse. Everything seems calm and unhurried – you feel ready to take on the world…

But, yes, there are side effects of this kind of lifestyle too: You tend to get 'tyred'. :)

Side effects of Lifestyle#2: Getting 'TYRED".

Yes, this is the idyllic life I am leading right now... and I am enjoying it to the hilt! Sure, there are pros and cons of each kind of lifestyle – other than getting 'tyred' (which has already happened to me), in this languorous lifestyle I miss the satisfaction of working on a challenging project... brainstorming on ideas and creating programmes and products that would bring about social change. But the satisfaction one gets from baking a perfect orange tea cake that is devoured with relish by young and old alike, is no less, believe me! The only thing is, leading a lazy, unhurried life is an art - and one has to learn to enjoy it without any guilt pangs... :)

Whatever else, I am truly glad that I decided to take this year-long vacation. I feel rested and refreshed and ready to take on any challenge... I think I’ll begin with the biggest one that I am facing right now – getting rid of the huge tyres around my middle that this ‘idyllic’ lifestyle has gifted me!