Checking up the doctor

Humor makes light the gravest of illnesses. At the doctor’s office, the doctor turned out to be a cute guy. Back home, the discussion naturally boiled down to, is he single? Could he, all cute and nice smiles and nerdy glasses and all, be single? The discussion took various turns, with the over-protective dad frowning as if the daughter finding someone cute is a terrible thing to happen to humanity, and the mom going off on an unending rant about how she let go off so many opportunities by getting hitched early in life and how I should continue valuing my freedom to do whatever or live wherever I choose to.

Apparently I have a psycho-magnet inside me, which is how I attract all the psychos in my life, she claims. Very oddly, she reminded me of the last time a guy I was interested in came home (odd because I could not even remember who the guy was), and she had put on her designer blouse and silk sari in the summer heat and cooked up a storm, even forgot to serve him posto because there were so many things to eat, yet there was no tangible outcome (tangible meaning a wedding in the timeline). I have no idea why mom chose to wear a designer blouse to impress someone I was interested in, or why does she even remember what happened in the last decade, but that's beyond the point. Both the parents started reacting as if I am underage or the doctor is underage. They both looked like they are suffering enough in their own marriage.

However, grandma became my hero. In between all this verbal commotion, she spoke up.

"We need to find out if the young man is single to begin with," she proclaimed. And how?

"I'll come with you the next time and while he is examining you, I will start making small talk. Small talk how? Ki baba, kemon aacho, bari kothaye? Barite ke ke thake?"

How are you doing? Where is your home? Who else lives in your family?

Will old grandma accompany her grandchild the next time to the doctor, holding her walking stick with shaky hands? Will grandma make small-big-talk, like she promised? Will the cute doctor turn out to be single?

I may or may not get hold of the doctor, but I hope that I can hold on to my cute, loving grandma till the last day of my life.

Update: The doctor turned out to be single. I happened to lose interest in him.

Dad sighed in relief. And my mom acutely observed (and remarked): "I think you are looking for a manager in life, not a partner."

I think she might have a point.

sunshine

That deadly concoction of motherly love!

One of the big, big things about living in desh (country) is that I am only one short, direct-flight away from baadi (home). Given the law of averages, this had to happen after 12 years of hopping trans-continental flights for 36 hours and going through multiple immigration and security checks. I have visited home about ten times in less than a year now, and every time, I come back with bags full of cooked food that lasts me a few weeks. If you ever want to know what you could and should not bring in an airplane, ask me! But more on that later.

This time, I came back from a crazy mom slaving in the kitchen for days to cook up a feast-to-go and running after me to take it all. My Aviation-IQ went up after a comically dark stint with the mango, and if there is one piece of advice I could give, it is to NEVER take aam pora’r shorbot concentrate (raw mango concentrate) in an airplane.

Amid a crazy morning after momma and grandma painstakingly packed me food for an army, she looked at me with puppy-eyes to take that raw mango concentrate that I was resisting, the one she had prepared with a lot of love and spices (pepper powder, mint, and a gazillion other things). I was arguing that I will not carry anything in a yellow water bottle with something she made to shield me from the 45 degree Celsius weather and prevent me from getting heat strokes. I have extremely low karma ratings as far as being a nice child is concerned, so I finally gave up.

I don’t know all the chemistry that went into whatever happened, but that bottle passed airport security miraculously. That same bottle would have led to a 3-hour long interrogation in a dark room in the US, leading up to them labeling me a budding terrorist and denying me entry for the rest of my life. But I digress here.

I boarded the plane and settled in with a rather steamy novel that I was going to read in the next few hours. As I was stuffing my backpack in the overhead bin, something prompted me to take that bottle out, lest it leaks. I imagined everything that could go wrong, and the worst circumstance that came to my rather unimaginative mind was a loose lid and spillage. I placed that bottle in between my feet while the airplane took off.

I knew there was a pop-sound as soon as we were airborne, but I thought it was someone goofing around and recklessly popping open a can of soda. Looking back at life in slow motion, most things often make perfect sense. Within the next 5 minutes, just when Jack was about to kiss Stella after 2 months of abstinence following a one-night stand, there was a louder pop-sound. This time, I looked below, and to my horror, the bottle had popped open with enough pressure to spit raw mango pulp all over my white clothes. An onlooker would have wondered how scared I was of flying that I could shit all over myself publicly in the middle of the day, the one of the semi-liquid kind, with telltale signs of the yellow spillage all over me.

I rushed to the restroom, the bottle in hand. It broke my heart to throw it in the trashcan, but I could not have salvaged it. I spent the next 20 minutes wiping the yellow goo off my clothes and sat through the rest of the plane ride shivering from wearing wet clothes as well as getting dirty, judgmental looks from the passengers. The swag with which I had entered the aircraft was all gone. I sat nervously like a mouse for the rest of the ride, praying that I do not hear another loud pop-sound from the restroom with some poor soul inside freaking out with their pants half-on and the pilot rerouting the airplane because there was yellow goo all over the ceiling.

Looking back, I can see why it was a bad idea to bring something that releases gas in a pressurized cabin. Mom does not fly, but I do. The rest of me and my food made it safe, and in case you are dying to know, it had chicken curry with posto, jhinge posto, potol posto, uchche bhaja, lau er torkari, lichu, jamrul, ruti, half-a-dozen gondhoraaj lebu, and even the bhaja jeere moshla for the mango drink. All this because I have a crazy mom who gets powered up listening to stories of people carrying things like ghee made out of barir gorur doodh (unadulterated milk from a cow someone keeps in their home), kilos of maach bhaja, and dhoka’r dalna, and tries to outshine them!

sunshine

A phone-tastic conversation

Conversations with Ma on Skype, where she tries to figure out what ails me in life that I don’t use acell phone anymore. Note that she uses the word smart phone for cell phone, because anything that isn't a smart phone doesn't count as a phone anymore. I think she is doing deductive reasoning, but could be inductive too.

Ma: It's been 19 months. Still no smart phone?
Me: Nope.

Ma: How are you surviving without a phone?
Me: I have a phone at work. And internet. Skype. Email. Facebook. And an address too, where people can write letters. 

Ma: But how will you Whatsapp?
Me: I don't need to Whatsapp.

Pause.

Ma: Are you depressed?
Me: No.

Ma: Is it about money?
Me: No.

Ma: I could send you some.
Me: INR will not work here. 

Ma: But all of us in the family have a smart phone.
Me: That's really smart. 

Ma: But how can you not have something when you have used it for so long?
Me: By that logic, I should miss my car more than my smart phone. 

Ma: Don’t you feel lonely?
Me: I watch movies, write, study, travel, and sleep, without the phone constantly dinging, or without me having to compulsively check messages. 

Pause. I know that she is getting really exasperated now.

Ma: I think that you have become really uncool. Like a "khitkhite buri" (grumpy grandma). You are ageing faster than I am. 

And so said the person who doesn't understand how the world revolves without a smart phone. Last heard, she told Baba recently that she understands what it feels like to have your smart phone die on you. It is like losing a best friend or a family member.

sunshine

“Maatri”-monial wisdom

Ma and I are on the phone. I have no need to be politically correct while talking to her. As usual, we are talking Bollywood. I'm telling her about the recent surge of female actors in their forties or approaching forties getting married this year. Urmila Matondkar. Preity Zinta. Bipasha Basu.

"Shobai ekhon buro boyeshey biye korchey." I say. (Everyone is getting married in old age)

Now this is Bollywood gossip. So Ma is clearly offended. And defensive too.

"Buro boyeshey na, mature boyeshey." she sternly corrects me. (Not old age, but mature age) "They are not immature like me, fell in love with the first guy I met and married him. They are just taking their time."

Now what do I say to that?

sunshine

Stealing the show

I call mom, and hear a strange "Hello?" I know this hello. It means she is doing something she does not want to discuss.

"What are you doing?"

"Kichuna". She is quick to answer, "Nothing!" 

I hear the unmistakable signs of her breathing fast. 

"Mom, what are you doing at 3 in the afternoon?"

"I am walking," she finally tells me.

"Where to?"

"To the cinema theater."

My mom found her liberation after 35 years of marriage. She is a die-hard cinema fan. She has to watch every cinema, Bollywood or Bangla or whatever, on large screen. She could watch back-to-back movies everyday for her entire life. 

However, she is also someone who has had a mostly sheltered life. Never worked outside home. Never worked for money (household work is work too, just that it does not pay monetarily). Never traveled alone. From living with her parents to living with my dad, she has never lived alone. Her hobbies and interests are something she indulged in as long as it did not affect the quality of her family's life. You get the picture. 

But then, she recently got tired of asking everyone to accompany her to watch movies. People were busy, people were disinterested, people did not care. I have been one of those people too who disappointed her. 

So one day, she took off alone. To watch a movie. After being married and in-company for 35 years, she just went ahead and watched a movie alone. And she loved it.

Ever since, weekdays after lunch, she takes off to the local cinema place. It's not as crowded on weekdays, and they even give heavy discounts on Tuesdays. 

"I love it. Now I do not have to depend on anyone's mood. And no matter whether you go alone or in a group of 20, you are always watching the movie alone."

She has nailed it. She just told me about the most profound realization many of us still do not have. The realization that your experiences are always your own, and everyone is living life on their own. She said that she'll be happy to go with us if we ask her to. Otherwise, she is happy going alone. 

And just like that, she shifted the power dynamics, from being a victim whom no one accompanies to the cinema, to a person in charge, who will be happy to give us company only if we need it. I am so proud of her, I am beaming. Because just like her, I do not wait for company to do the things I want to- travel, eat at a restaurant, watch a cinema, go on a long drive, visit the Disneyland. I have done it all alone, and loved it. Ma must have looked at me many times and thought, "My daughter is just like me." Now, I look at her and think, "My mother is just like me. Independent, when not inter-dependent." 

"Okay, I have to go now. I am almost there. You know, the security people know me so well by now that they do not even check my bag. They just let me in," she beams proudly.

"Great. What movie are you watching?"

"Saala Khadoos"

For a moment, I thought that she was talking about me.

sunshine

The ultimate death knell of friendship

My mommy updates have been missing because I haven't had time to talk to Ma as much of late. Both of us have been busy with our own pursuits. When we finally had some time to catch up, Ma asks me in Bangla about this person, an ex-friend I am no longer in touch with.

Ma: Do you speak to them?

Me: Na. It's been a year.

Ma: Good for you. Still, how are they?

Me: No idea. I deleted them from FB.

Ma: What? Why did you need to delete them from FB? No harm in keeping them around on FB, right?

So it looks like according to Ma, the harshest thing to do is delete someone from FB. It doesn't matter that they were no longer active in my life and I hadn't spoken to them in a long time. Unfriending someone on FB is the ultimate death knell of friendship, for her at least.

sunshine