Dowry and me!

For people who do not know what dowry is, It is a gift in the form of money, valuables or property given to a groom by the bride's family at the time of marriage, generally on demand from the groom/groom’s parents. I have borrowed this definition from the dozens and dozens of essays I wrote during my high school days on the evils of dowry system. This was a favourite subject for all question paper setters, essay competition organizers and off course I was quite happy with their favouritism towards dowry system because having written on the same topic many times, the words just flowed off my pen without any effort from my end.
The first time I came to know about dowry was when I was about 8-9 years old when I watched a Kannada movie themed about this topic. It was a movie about a bride being tortured by her in-laws for failing to bring the demanded dowry. I do not remember the movie but I do remember scenes where the heroine cries, begs and then argues with her in-laws that ’Varadakshine’ (Dowry in Kannanda) was illegal and incorrect. The film didn’t make much sense to me then. I asked my mom what ’Varadakshine’ meant and she gave me the exact definition I gave you. I do remember thinking a lot about this then. I tried reasoning why the in-laws would have asked the heroine to get money from her parents. Finally I came up with this line of thought. If parents sent their daughter to somebody’s house to stay there after the marriage it was quite natural that they had to pay to that somebody to look after their daughter. Why would somebody want to bear the living expenses of someone else’s daughter? Just like the parents paid fees in school for sending their kids to school they had to pay fees to the groom for sending their daughter with him! With this logic I found the torture of the heroine by her in-laws quite ok and very much justifiable. The in-laws were quite right to torture and had every right to do so. I am in the party of the in-laws I thought then. I did feel pity for the heroine but that was only because she seemed very pretty to me then and I dreamt to look like her when I grew up!
I did not stay content with this reasoning for long. Although I hadn’t understood much of the movie, I knew that heroine was right at the end and the in-laws were treated as villains. This meant something was wrong in the logic I had derived. I thought again for days together. I slowly asked my mother again “Is she right? Or are they right in asking dowry?” to confirm my understanding. My mother said “Off course it is wrong to ask dowry.” So my theory was wrong and I had to derive a new theory for the heroine to be right and the in-laws to be wrong. I thought about it again for many days. Finally it clicked. If one buys something from the shop, the buyer has to pay the shopkeeper and not the other way round. When a person purchases a pen, the pen moves from the shopkeeper to the buyer. I found the procedure of a bride moving from her parent’s house to her husband’s house analogous to buying a pen. So, logically as per this theory the in-laws had to pay the bride’s parents for getting her with them and it was absolutely foolish of them to demand money from her parents instead. “Why would the shopkeeper pay when he sells something; he should get something instead. How stupid of me not to understand this simple logic!” I thought. I was very much happy with this logic and stayed with this theory for years together.

Slowly things changed and I realized marriage was not a buy-sell business and by getting two people married nobody was doing anybody a favour. If at all if someone was getting a favour it was the couple itself and it was for mutual happiness. This weekend I was talking to my husband about the silly thoughts I used to have when I was small and I remembered this. I always used to have my own version of logic for events happening around me which seem very silly and foolish now. My husband’s nephew called him on his birthday to wish him and asked, “Am I the first to wish you? Or is it aunty?” I told my husband to tell it was him. I did not know what was the kid thinking when he asked this, but did not want to spoil his pleasure in knowing he was the first. May be he had his own version of thoughts and might laugh at them when he grows. I think childhood is all about that, living in a world where a different logic rules which is different from the actual world but which seems very right at that stage of life.

Just a Blog

"Frost fair", this is where we will go this weekend I thought on Friday as I was browsing through the Christmas events in London. The website said it would be a fair with ice sculptures, husky dog rides, street theatres, artist performances on the bankside. Wah! Interesting outing it would be I thought. So on Sunday, in spite of the freezing weather, two creatures i.e. me and my husband ventured outside. The venue of the fair was near Tate Modern, the famous museum of modern arts in London. I also had plans to visit the Tate which I did not mention to my husband, who otherwise would have cancelled this whole thing even before we started.
We reached the Southwark station from which the frost fair was at a walkable distance. Following directions, we started not to mention the horrifying cold enveloping us and penetrating its sharpness through all the warm clothing we had on us. There wasn’t any excitement on the streets showing any signs of social activity in the vicinity. I wondered if I had checked the date properly, hoped so desperately for 2 reasons, one coming out so far in the cold and finding that there was nothing would be a terrible experience on its own, plus I would also have to hear the continuous comments, tease from my husband, which I didn’t want to. So, I kept motivating him to walk further, when we saw some signs, parents with their little kids all bundled up in clothes treading little steps. “It might be good” I thought, although I started getting this intuition that it would be a huge disappointment
So, finally we reached the place, in front of the Tate. Except for a pair of little dirty dogs giving rides to tiny kids, a man demonstrating how to carve an ice sculpture and a few little stalls the place was dull. I didn’t want get into the phase of getting teased, so volunteered my apologies beforehand to my husband for getting him there. He is one person who at times sees light even in the darkest tunnel! He showed me a place a few meters away filled with smoke, which gave hopes of some warmth. There were food stalls, hot pies, drinks, pancakes etc. I had issued a temporary curfew on chicken items in the house, so my husband did not express any desire to eat any of the hot stuff although he was fully willing to do so.
With the freezing weather my finger tips started aching despite the gloves. That was the pretext to go into Tate. It displayed modern art which in reality made no sense but on observation, one could make 101 interpretations of it. Being an imaginative creature I am, I very well could read meanings into them. I am not an artist or a great fan of arts, but I could easily spend a couple of hours in the gallery. But meanwhile my husband was getting restless. He has a self-imposed (well, I think so) allergy towards museums, libraries or anything I like and I started getting the hints. I ignored the comments and continued;
Finally we came out of the Tate; I thought he deserved something for accompanying me to the Tate plus the frost fair, a fair which was lacklustre. A ping of guilt started piercing me for dragging him out in the terrible cold. Back again there were the food stalls. There was this Morocco food stall which sold all spicy dishes filling the air with beautiful aroma. Suggested him to buy it. Little encouragement was all he needed. He came out all happy with a huge Morocco chicken cone in his hand.
Back at home we were relaxing all warm and cosy. “When will we visit the next museum?” he asked all smiling (All credit to the Morocco chicken cone). I remembered Joey of the ‘Friends’ (the funny character in the ‘Friends’ series who likes eating). I said “Next Saturday, but this time there won’t be any Morocco checken”P.S: I know this is not my kind of blog. I just wanted to keep up the writing spirits

Try and try...

Oh! There is so much to do. How will I do? I hope it comes ok. I don’t know why I take such a long time to do it when that is the simplest thing according to everybody. I just hope I can do it well and with little time this time”. This is the sort of anxiety I feel when I plan to do this particular task. You are wondering what it is? In typical KBC style of Amitabh Bacchan, “Agar aap exam ke bare mein soch rahe hein to aap galat hai”(If you are thinking about exam you are wrong), “agar aap kuch confession ke bare mein soch rahe hein tho aap galat hai””(If you are thinking about confession you are wrong), “agar aap mere office ke kaam ke bare mein soch rahe hein tho bhi aap galat hai””(If you are thinking about my work at office you are still wrong). This task which makes me anxious, gets me nervous, brings me restlessness is none other than making chapathis.
“Making chapathis?” that’s the question mark on your face. Yes, making chapathis; soft ones, round ones has been a question mark to me from time immemorial. Oh, I shouldn’t lie, well not exactly time immemorial but for the past 4-5 months, the reason being I never tried to do one before that. My actual hands -on experiment in cooking started with my marriage. I had started with dosas and other Konkani recipes of different varieties and amazingly but true, all of them had come out quite well to my own surprise! My husband used to always bug me before our marriage although jokingly, asking me if I knew to prepare some dosa or some dish. I knew nothing at that time and had taken it as a challenge to prepare all those things he used to bug me with and feed him once I am married. So, now you see why I didn’t do chapattis when we were back in India ; that was not in the list of items he used to bug me with!! After coming to UK , the initial 6 months passed by in changing trains and managing time that there was neither time nor energy to try anything new. After shifting to London , I did make some futile attempts to make chapattis but easily gave them up following disastrous results. I was content to use the ready made thaw and eat Shana parathas.
The problem started when one of my colleagues a south Indian girl got engaged to another colleague a north Indian guy. She started making chapattis for him although she wasn’t used to them and had shared my opinion earlier that it was a difficult job. I don’t know why, but this part of me did not want to accept that I made bad chapattis. I didn’t see any reason why I should fail in this simple task. Yes, that’s when I made up mind; I am going to master the art of making chapattis.
The first thing I did was search for atta, Pillsbury or Annapoorna atta which my mom used. Unfortunately I could find only huge bags of them not less than 10kgs. I couldn’t buy bag of 10 kg. It would be like buying a brand new Mercedes E-class with a learner’s license. I had to buy something smaller which suited my L-board, like a second hand Maruti zen. So, I went to the Tesco and brought a 1.5 kg bag of Shakthibhog Atta. Now, the name itself was quite repelling, ‘shakthibhog’. I don’t understand why people name stuffs with such weird names. “Anyway, how does the colour of the car matter when you are learning”, I thought and went ahead with the plan. My chapattis came out nice, round as moon, soft as sponge. But………….. only before I put them on the tawa. Once cooked they were ok to be eaten immediately, bad after sometime and worse the next day. My mom, MIL suggested a few ideas, but all in vain; If only one needed equipments in the gym to exercise the jaw muscles, I would have become a rich woman by now owning a wholesale chapatti production unit. I wonder why the health conscious civilization hasn’t come up with such an idea yet.
When I am after something I do not give up easily. If A can make nice chapattis, B can make nice chapattis, why can’t C make nice chapattis? Off course she can! I changed from maruthi zen to Indica. I got a new brand called Natco. The name sounded better. With a new brand I wanted to try a new trick. Where can I find a new trick? Being in software industry for 4 years now, my mind by default went to Google, the beautiful manifestation of internet technology. I googled for ‘How to make soft chapathis’. Aah! There I find so many answers. First thought that came to my mind was “Wah! Chaitra you are not alone…many have faced this problem”. With the tricks googled out, I started driving my tata Indica;
Fuel the car and lubricate the engine parts before you drive, said lesson1; I kneaded the dough by applying a bit of oil in addition to the regular salt, flour and water. Keep the engine in running state said lesson 2; I kept aside the kneaded dough in a warm place for some time. Start driving smoothly said lesson 3; I rolled the chapattis carefully; Apply breaks only when necessary said lesson 4; I applied flour while rolling the chapattis only when it was absolutely necessary; Avoid humps and dents on the road said lesson 5; I flattened the chapattis evenly. Do not stop abruptly said lesson 6; I put the chapattis on the already heated up tawa. Always park your car in a proper parking area said the last lesson; I kept my chapattis covered.
My chapattis are ok now. But I am not stable enough to get rid-off the learner’s license. Generally my mood, spirits get reflected on the quality of the chapatti, not to exclude the luck. I still cannot say I can make soft chapattis with confidence. So, the day I plan to make chapattis, as the time approaches I will be in this agitated nervous state just like the time before the exams. I do not know why I consider this as something I need to achieve. But I am not ready to accept failure yet. I will follow the advice my mom used to give us when were small, ‘Marali yathnava maadu, marali yathnava maadu’

Marali yathnava maadu--> Try and try until you succeed

Chapatti--> North Indian bread like food stuff

atta-->wheat flour

MIL-->Mother-in-law

Calm & Quiet

Can you imagine the first thing about India that I missed in UK? Food? I did miss the food but it wasn’t the first thing I missed immediately as I came here. I will tell you what it is.
My initial project in UK was in Havant, a remote village in UK. The village was picturesque for the first sight with old Victorian houses, cool weather and silent roads. Having read hundreds of English novels, the place was exactly how they explain in books, a calm serene place. I had always considered myself as an introvert, an imaginative soul lost in some thoughts distant from this world. On seeing the village I thought, “What better place to live than this!” No, but I was proved wrong and that too within a couple of hours.
After freshening up, I was on my way to meet my project mate. For miles together I found not a single human being. Just a few cars went by, but again no horns, no noise just calm and quiet. I started getting this feeling as though I was alone and marooned in a place with no one around. I reached the place my project mate had mentioned. It is supposed to be the high street of the town. But I found not more than 5 people (including me) on the long stretch of road. I wanted to confirm if the place I came was the right one. There was no one close whom I could ask. I walked down the road for 5 min when I met a lady. The lady said she didn’t know. I had to ask someone else. But there was no one on the road. Just deserted and silent. I had to wait for 3 minutes before I met another human being and asked him for public telephone from which I could call my colleague. I went to the booth, but needed help; had to wait again for 10 min before I met the next human being. Being a bank holiday made it further worse. I started feeling sick. That’s when I realized I miss the general people, the crowd, the general chaos and noise one finds everywhere in India.
I used to stay in a B&B and every morning I used to come to the dining area for breakfast. Almost all the tables would have been occupied when I came. But still there was no hustle-bustle of the ‘Udupi Krishna bhavans’ or the ‘Bengaluru darshinis’. There were no orders of “ Ondu masale, Eradu poori, Aidu idli sambhar’ to the cook or the menu of the supplier ‘ idli, poori, masale, uppittu,sheera….”There were no sounds from the kitchen- the water splashing, the ‘chuuuuinnnnnn’ sound of the dosa on the tawa, the sound of boiling water in the idli cooker, the cooks chatting merrily. Except or the occasional clicking of forks against the plates the place was very calm and quiet
I used to take the bus to my office. Half the busy used to be empty. Everyone silently stood in the queues, bought the tickets from the driver and came in and sat down. There was no conductor of our Mangalore city buses blowing his whistle ‘Phew…Phew….Phewwwww’ non-stop, least bothered that his whistle is within a foot’s distance from your ears. “Olage hogi, munde banni, amma aache hogi, akka illi kutkolli, alli jaaga untu…hogi hogi…” with the final “Phewwwwwwwwwww Rightttsssss poyeeee” was missing.“Tickets….tickets…yaaaru tickets….” was missing...Cries of conductors listing the bus stops “Jyothi, lady Hill, Urvastore, kottara, baikampady, panambur, Surathkal….” was not there. The bus was just calm and quiet
I came to the office. The office was filled with people generally senior to me. Everyone was busy working. There were no colleagues who came for a chat during tea breaks, there were no project managers talking aloud on the phones, there were no support teams making hue and cry of every small issue. The office was just calm and quiet.
Back again in the evening, there wasn’t this friendly shopkeeper with whom you could bargain for the prices of petty vegetables, or the little boy from whose shop you bought your daily stock of milk, curds. You just went to the supermarket and bought the things you want for a week and returned to your room. Everything was just calm and quiet
I won’t get into the terrible details of boredom, loneliness I felt during my first week. But I felt one thing, no matter how beautiful or calm and quiet the place was it had no liveliness in it. It was a dead. The quietness started to eat me from within. I had detested the crowds and gatherings in India. But I needed them. I wanted to see people, active people bustling with activity; I wanted to see them laugh, talk, scowl, blame, scold, pull, push in buses; I wanted them to be there. The place was too calm and quiet for me.
I was transferred to London within 2 weeks due to some project requirement or rather the absence of it. It was my first time in tubes, the London underground. The trains were filled with people, busy people running for offices. At every stop, some people got down, more people came in. some were talking, some were reading, some were just standing or sitting, but they were there; More people came in, tubes got crowded, there was scowl on people’s faces, there were apologetic smiles, there was announcement from driver, there was anger, to summarize in a word there was life! Life was fast and moving; there was an active rhythm to it unlike that in Havant which was sad, slow and filled with melancholy;
I felt comfortable, I felt at home. “This is where I belong”, I thought. Crowd, people, noise, hustle-bustle are a part of me. Calm, quiet, tranquil places are good only to read in books. I would not want to live in a place calm and quiet.

B&B-->Bed and Breakfast; A small motel like place to stay providing boarding and breakfast

Marriage material

"How old are you, Where do you work, and then an appraising look is what I encounter where ever I go", said a friend of mine, an eligible bachelor. Age being the age he is and working in a company known to every literate or may be even illiterate in the country, he is considered to be an ideal 'marriage material'.
In India marriage is considered to be a vital part of a human being and an even more vital responsibility of the parents of that human being. So, irrespective of whether the input (i.e. the marriage candidate) is available (i.e. ready), the process is started. A lady becomes the marriage material as soon as she finishes her immediate studies, generally a bachelor's degree and a man when he attains an age of 25-26 and is in a good enough job. Having gone through that phase, I understand the situation of my friend very well. The society norms being the way it is I very well understand the anxiety of the parents to get their children married; but what I do not understand is the enthusiasm or the excess enthusiasm of the relatives, their relatives, their friends, some uncles, some aunties, so grannies to get an individual married. I am sure they are all well intended but the awkward situations the marriage material undergoes are worth mentioning.
The marriage material goes to a family function, the first thing he/she listens is a comment from an old aunty “The next family function would be your wedding” The marriage material just grins; his explanation that he isn’t interested would only fall on deaf ears, instead it would only raise questioning stares from others. Then he meets an old grandpa who is a distant relative of his mom. “I don’t mind even if I die but I want to see your marriage before that”. Marriage material is confused. Does it mean that the wedding of the marriage material would be such a heart breaking experience for the grandpa that he dies later? Or does it mean the grandpa wants to die with the satisfaction that one more man/woman is bound by the marriage knot? (Only that the old grandpa doesn’t die contently after the marriage but would only have more demands awaiting about kids, house etc).
Then a helpful aunty approaches the marriage material’s mom, “You know, there is this lady who has just finished her graduation in xxx. She is from very good family yyy. I saw her during the wedding of Mr X’s son last week. She is really pretty and is working as well. I think she is ideal for your son”, and looks appraisingly at the marriage material. The marriage material just widens his lips for the sake of courtesy. The helpful aunty doesn’t stop there; now she targets directly at the marriage material, “What kind of girl do you want?”, “Do you want a working girl? Or do you prefer a house wife?” “Do you want a fair one?” “Oh, you want one with lovely black hair?”(As though it is a market from which you can bargain and pick out the best one out as per your choices). Indians are generally not very open about their marriage and hence the marriage material just keeps mum only flashing his teeth. The story doesn’t end here. The helpful aunty suddenly realizes something and drags the marriage material aside. She now thinks of being a confidante and whispers into the ears of the marriage candidate, “Are you in love with someone?” Even before the marriage material confirms or declines it, she says “Which caste is she?” The marriage material tries to replies something which never comes out of his mouth. Aunty continues “No, you don’t worry. I will tell your parents. You are afraid to tell them, aren’t you?” Realizing that no sound came out of his mouth last time, the marriage material now tries to nod his head and refuse it. He is unsuccessful in this attempt as well, for the helpful aunty is now holding is head and mischievously telling him “Oh oh you naughty boy!!! You hiding things from you dear aunty! Look how I found it out?!! Do not worry, I will speak to your mama, papa”. Then comes the next character, the helpful aunt’s helpful husband sweating profusely after the heavy lunch, bringing along with him an odour which one can imagine to be a combination of the spices in the lunch he had, sweat, cigarette smoke and the sweet he has just gobbled. Having got to know the things from his wife, the helpful uncle hugs the marriage material now and says “Oh lover boy!!!...Who is the lucky lady?? mmmm? You know, when I was in the college there was this pretty lady……I will help you in every way” The marriage material only struggles to free himself from the helpful hug of the helpful uncle only wishing “I just hope he helps me get out of this sweaty hug”
I always used to remember a joke I had read somewhere and provided it as a suggestion to my friend. The joke is about a young man like our marriage material who always meets this old aunty during wedding occasions in the family. The old aunty always asks him “Mmmm…When is your turn dear boy?” Having got to heard this a dozen times the young man is fed up and waits for an opportunity to give it back. As usual he meets the old aunty at a ceremony, but this time a funeral occasion. He decides to avenge on her, goes to her and asks “Mmmm… When is your turn dear aunty?” Next time the old aunty doesn’t haunt him with her old question.
If you are a marriage material and are facing these situations, you might want to try this…but at your own risk.