Perspicacity: Are we what we want to be??

I was spending yet another weekend away from home, and there was no better way to spend it than to spend it with my friend, Gulli. That Saturday night, after one of the ‘Ready to Eat’ Pavbhaji dinners, and lot of gossiping, we settled into bed. While folding her clothes into a neat pile, Gulli showed me a top I had gifted her on one of her previous birthdays. A top I had designed and embroidered myself. She told me of how everyone who saw the top for the first time praised it to no end. And that set me thinking… Am I where I wanted to be??

It was 7th grade. I was sitting in the last bench with my friends Namita and Priyanka looking over my shoulder as I put the finishing touches to the pencil sketch of a beautiful old day English gown. I had designed it myself and in my mind’s eye I had imagined it to be a pale green, which was only apt I thought, since the design involved motifs of leaves. The previous pages of the lil notebook were filled with some such designs of gowns. And on the hard front cover was written the name ‘ROSE LONEY’ in bold black, with a symbol in green, blue and pink. I had designed that symbol too, which I believed would one day be the trade mark of a famous fashion designer - ME.

At that same moment a tall thin man walked into the noisy class and introduced himself as Mr. Hemant Kumar, the new computer teacher. I looked up and my friends rushed to their places. I reluctantly but hastily, closed the book, still thinking who would model my dresses when I was a designer. I set my mind upon Priyanka, since she was really tall and slim. He rapped on the table again, and we were all intently listening........

The bell rang finally, and that day at school had ended. We walked home, talking excitedly of what we had learnt and the new things we would be doing. I reached home and opened the door to my parent’s room to tell them all about the computers course. But my parents and my sister were in deep conversation. They were deciding on what career path my sister was to choose. My sister was talking about computers too. She wanted to be a Computer Science
Engineer. My father seemed happy with the decision. Computers were the future after all. My Mom dropped hints about the noble profession of Doctors. But they were duly ignored. My brother had joined me by now. My sister turned to us and announced her decision.

At that point, as I stood listening, somewhere in my conscience my dream was grasping and choking to survive. As I described my first computer class, I unconsciously knew that my path had been chosen for me.

5 Years later…..

In my parent’s room, my parents and I were in deep conversation. We were deciding on what career path I was to choose. My mother was shaking her head. It’s not a noble profession. Why not become a doctor? You love biology. And it’s more suitable for girls. Fashion designing is frowned upon in our family. NIFT is far off from home. You’ll stray into bad company.

I stood there imagining myself as my mom thought I would end up 5 years from then. Anorexic, skimpily clad, tattooed lads with too much money, smoking and maybe drinking too. I laughed. Me?? Never. I’ll be a designer with a difference.

On my parent’s insistence I call my sister, a software engineer employed by Infosys. Don’t you like Computers? Remember that day 5 years back? How excited you were. It’s a comfortable life. Good pay and it’s very challenging. Take computers Rose. Laughs. You, john and me can start a software firm. Pappa will be the manager. I turn around as the door opens, looking for anyone who would support me. My brother enters, back from college, holding his computer graphics text. I close my eyes and give up. In my heart, my dream sheds a last tear that joins a well of others. I comfort it. Maybe 5 years from now you’ll be reborn like the phoenix. Take heart.

Today….

I’m a software engineer with Tata Consultancy Services. It seems to everyone that I was born to do nothing but this. I search far and wide for creativity in this world of IT. I barely find any. As a vent for my creative desire, I go shopping over the weekend with Gulli. Buy some clothes and design others. I am my own model and sometimes Gulli consents to be a guinea pig.

As these thoughts cross my mind a few tears escape my eyes. Gulli asks, what’s the matter? I tell her what I have been thinking. Are we what we want to be? I don’t hear her answer, but as I slip into slumberland, the ashes of my dream, cough up an answer...... You are yet only Twenty Three.....

My Himalayan Trek - Part IV

The 4th and Final part.....

When we reached the base camp(sounds better than dharamshala), we were really dusty and need of a bath. Now I did mention how cold the water was right, so me and priyanka were reluctant, but our Mam needed no initiation. Seeing our dilemma, the guard who also doubled as the assistant chef offered to boil a bucket of water for each of us. He warned us that it was against the camp rules as we were expected to brave the cold naturally. So he asked us to hurry up before the head of camp (whom I shall call the HOC from now on. I really forgot his name, though I remember he looked a lot like amrish puri) returned. Now I was to go first. And I collected the bucket of water and was crossing the courtyard, when, as MY FATE would have it, I slipped and fell rather hard on my bum. And the bucket overturned. I was in this muddy mess and everyone had to seep into the courtyard and offer…. No, not sympathy but criticism…. of my beautiful and fancy lavender and blue slippers. They went on about how we Bombay girls (I kept telling them I was from Bangalore) with our fancy slippers didn’t know how to walk!!! Or that I should buy sturdy hawai chappals. Not one of them thought of saying ‘are beti, sambhal ke’. Damned Manalians. Anyway my bucket was refilled and I went to have a bath in a very tiny and dirty bathroom. I take a really long time to bathe. So obviously I couldn’t finish off quickly before the head of camp arrived and it wasn’t possible for priyanka to get her pail of hot water. But luckily, the HOC after piying us (especially me) offered Priyanka the use of his bathroom that had runnning hot water (he didn’t live at the dharamshala, but some swank lodge).

The next day we were all charged fresh and happy. All of us set of to a nearby sanctuary. It had really thick woods, moss covered rocks, small streams, lovely birds and animals and some pretty lil cottages here and there. The tree canopies were so dense that the sunlight barely filtered in. It was like twilight even at noon. So we walked around, saw many peacocks and other less beautiful birds. And in all this we got lost. Of course. I had to do something like thios. But it was a small sanctuary and we knew we would eventually find our way back. We were almost nearing our group when we come across a couple of blacks from some african country. They asked us something, but the accent was really ununderstandable, so they let us pass. But in pasing they said something to the effect that indian women are beautiful. And that we did understand. (Now most guys would be nodding in agreement as Priyanka did/does head their crush list).

Some of these days me and priyanka would simply walk up and down the Manali main street, getting into the emporiums and looking at the crafts – paper mache, silver filigree work, different gems and jewellery. And its here during one of these walks that I had my first softy cone. It was pale brown chocolate. I delighted in the fact that it was really so soft. But the best part was that, in Manali the ice cream would take really really long to melt. Really long.

It was the day to go back. We were leaving a couple of days early due to our reservations. The HOC came with us to the bus stop. We were in sitting in the bus and he gave us some frooti. I happily gave Priyanka mine and we waved tata. The same winding route back to delhi, the same throwing up, all the same. Back at delhi we had really long baths. Talked to the brigadiers family, told and retold the stories(one our version and one Mam’s version) and had good food. We did some more shopping. And then Mam wanted to tour delhi. Now Priyanka had seen Delhi before, so I went with Mam. We saw all the usual sites on an arranged tour, clicked snaps infront of each monument and were constantly pestered by this irritating guy, which Mam enjoyed, I didn’t.

And then It was the time to go back home. I was thrilled. We said our bye byes. The train journey was eventful because of thi sidiot form pune who wouldn’t quit smiling at us and kept trying to talk to us. Then somehow this guy leaves his address in one of novels (Cane and Abel) and asks us to call him. What a joke. Anyway it was a long wait at hubli for the connecting intercity. And at 8 am we reached home town. Priyanka’s mom was there to pick us up. My mom couldn’t come as my sister was leaving the same day in just a few hours on a twenty day trip. To Manali. And many other places.

Inspite of the illnesses and the bad food, Manali and the himalays was a great experience. We were back in one piece. I was lighter. Was an accomplished skater (Ok, I own up that's a lie). Had many more clothes and also a box full off petha…. Life couldn’t get better.

My Himalayan Trek - Part III

Here's part 3.... I shall post part 4 tomorrow....

Then came the highlight of the entire trip. The bare bones camping in kulu valley at the foot of Rothang Pass – the highest natural pass in the world. And later we would trek to it we were told. It was another bus ride, some irritating antakshiri and some puking from me. We reached the site and had actual back packs on our backs and trekked in our parkas, gloves and scarves to the valley. A section behind a ruinous wall was chosen as campsite, and we set off pitching tents. Of course the three of us in the ‘we’ were just admiring the process. Professional help had been hired. The tents were all double layered to keep the cold out (they miserably failed at that). All tents were a blue, and only ours was a bright orange. The HOC said that we were 'priority', because if the tents flew off, then it would be easy to spot our tent on the terrain. I was actually beaming at the thought of us being given priority, but the thought of being flown off in a tent wasn’t very appealing, and for sometime every gust of wind would scare me. But the sheer beauty of the place over came that fear. The fact that it was bitterly cold also helped.

I’m not very healthy. I’ve a very low immunity against diseases and fall ill pretty easily. So the close to 0 degree temperature was bound to get me. And I had a very bad fever, terrible cold, aching ear and no voice. At that time even a trip in a flying tent looked appealing. But my parents had expected this and I was powered with some of the most powerful pharmaceutical drugs. But it took around two days for the fever to leave me, but the cold sorta liked me, so it stuck around. Some nights I would get up unable to breathe, as the rarified air and an entirely blocked nose made it really hard to breathe. And one night when the fever was really high, I was practically shaking. Poor Priyanka was scared, she had to actually sit on me to stop me from shaking. And that night, the one night that I couldn’t eat a morsel, or couldn’t taste what I wa seating, the damn cook made my favourite – Rajma. If I hadnt been shaking to death I would have killed him.

After I was better, the HOC took me and Priyanka and a couple of other girls in a trax up to the Rothang pass for 'acclamatization'. The path was really winding and steep. So the result was that I puked, a record 6 times. When we finally reached the pass, the HOC, in an attempt to cheer me up, shared with me the news that the previous day an old man had frozen to death right there. That piece of information combined with the worlds worst cup of lemon tea made by a very old lady in a shack, made me throw up for the last time. I say last time because even my intestinal juices were out, there was nothing left to throw up. So after 'acclamatizing', we were all rather happy to drive back. When we reached the valley and were aimlessly walking around, small white flakes started floating down from the sky. Since I live near a pulp and fibre factory, I thought it was pulp ash from the burning wood. But the flakes as they touched my hand would disappear. And then it dawned that it was snow. We were witnessing the first snow fall of that year at Kulu Manali. Of course I had seen more snow in my old refridgerator, but hell, it was still ‘a moment’. It barely lasted ten mins, after which it turned into a slight drizzle and we all rushed into our tents.

The next morning after breakfast our Mam arranged for all of us to go for a small trek around the area. I really wasn’t up to it, but didn’t want to seem rude. So we all went. It was causal walking most of the part, but erally beautiful. Tall snow capped mountains all around. Crystal clear air and small streams and water falls meandering all through the mountains. When we reached three quarters of the way, because of my bad health and Priyanka’s fear of heights, it was decided that we would not accompany the others the rest of the way. They would join us on the way back. Left to our devices, we ran around (figuratively of course. I don’t run), and drank from the streams. You know, I’m the ‘mineral water’ type, but even I was amazed at the purity of the water flowing through the rocks and I had no problem in drinking it either. And then as afternoon aproached, we lay down on the rocks and balmed in the sun. We later joined the rest of the group on their way down, and headed for another dismal dinner ( no rajma!!!).

The trip to Rothang pass was a trek of sorts because we never trekked!!! We went in the bus. And we were parked very close to the region where the oldman had died. :-( Now Priyanka was ill and was shivering pretty badly. It was my turn to wrap her up and warm her up. So while the rest of them climbed over the hill we stayed in the bus. After that the next day, we all left for the base camp.

Now in our entire stay at manali, we hadnt bathed. We never sweated see. So occasionally we would sponge, but hadnt had a bath. And we desperately wanted to have one. But the cold water was unthinkable. The HOC suggested the geyesers situated near by. He said we could rent a private bath and enjoy a bath as well as do some sight seeing. We agreed. So the three of us took an auto to this place. When we reached there, we found out that all the private baths were closed and only the public bath was available. One for the women and one for men. We walked into the public bath and what do we see??? Naked women, every where. That was a really bad sight. Now we were both 17. just 1 year away from being leagally adults. So we couldn’t run and hide screaming chi chi. But at the same time, we were incapable of putting on airs like we were adults and 'this is of course natural'. So we chose the diplomatic middle path. We hid without screaming. :-) There was this section, if we went down a few steps, where the geyser water flowed out from pipes (not taps). Other more decently clad women were washing their clothes there. So we hid there. We took out the few clothes we had brought for washing. In our hurry to hide, Priyanka slipped off the top step and landed at the base right on her bum (I laughed a lot then, but wouldn’t have if I only knew that this would happen to me a few hours later). Once, Priyanka was set right, the two of us set out to wash our clothes. It was my first attempt at washing and I did pretty badly. When it was all dried the next day, I kept wondering what the blue patches on my white shirt were. It then dawned on me that it was soap. So I stashed away the entire washing. I had anyway brought enough clothes to last me a month. Oh… And you are wondering what happened to our Mam??? She divied in with the rest of the nudies. Unfortunately we had a glimpse. I had nightmares for a week. After that a very fresh and happy guides Mam and two very wet and sour girls walked down the winding path, beside streams in serach of base camp.

To be continued....

My Himalayan Trek - Part II

I apologize for not posting for such a long time. Here's the second part of "My himalayan trek". Its really long so there will be 4 parts in total...........

In the evening of the first day, we had proper introductions. We were given the camping equipment like back packs, sleeping bags, parkas, pick axe and such stuff. The other girls were from the state of Madhya Pradesh and spoke mostly hindi. So one of us was asked to give a speech in hindi. And since I was most proficient in hindi than the other two, it was upto me. I’m normally a good orator, but an impromptu speech in hindi was a lil too much. But the girls there were more engrossed in analysing us than the speech. So I made a short speech without choking or fainting and that was the end of that.

We were told that every morning we’ll have to do roller blade skating in the courtyard with the other girls. Now they had been roller blading for some time. Infact they had plans to go on a roller blading tour kind of thing too. Which means they were experts. And we amatuers (a nice way of telling we had never done it before) were very ungracefully pushed into the middle of it all. Now these other girls were very gracefully skating around in circles, some would even show off a figure of eight. Amidst all this we were taking our first lesson: learning how to stand still (lesson zero was trying to get up after wearing the roller blades). I find it hard to stand still while I’m wearing shoes. So standing still with roller blades?? Really not my cup of tea. So I had my first of many ‘bum hits ground’ experiences. More than the physical pain, it was the embarassment that bothered me. Because you see, on one side of the courtyard, there were broad steps, just like those in stadiums and people sat there watching and also laughing. From the second day it was almost house full. We slowly learnt to stand. Then he told us that we must learn to walk wearing the roller blades. And then slowly he asked us to push our legs a lil further, every time we put are foot down. And so gradually we were skating. But of course not gracefully. We had to lean forward with our hands strteched out b4 us to maintain balance. Definitely not graceful. We looked like a couple of blind gals who accidentally slipped into roller blades. But towards the end we were sorta ok.

On the second day of our trip we went trekking up a mountain (actual mountain). But since the other girls had already done this, we three were alone in this too. Of course the abominable guard was there too. We were given a pick axe like thing with which to climb the mountain. That thing was just a dead weight though. Just think, would you, when faced by a steep precipice, hook your pick axe with the help of that?? NOT ME!!!!! Anyway we set out. Our Mam kept up a running commentary of the sights we saw, to the extent of distracting me. There were some tough sections where we had to struggle through, though the abominable guard walked with his hands in his pocket (and a smirk o his face). At some point we were tired and decided to rest. And as luck would have it, I sat on some thorns. When I got up hastily, my bum was some sight (there werent too many sounds thanks to LEE jeans). Most of them fell off on dusting, but Priyanka had to pick out the rest. I wasn’t very inclined on resting after that. So we set off again. Now after a while, Priyanka started getting a lil worried, and then scared. Turns out she’s sort of aftraid of heights. She insisted on returning, but our adventourous Mam wanted to go on. And I was indifferent (still mulling over the thorns). Then Mam finally suggested we take some rest and maybe Priyanka will feel better and we could go on. Here I jumped in (as fast as I had jumped UP at our previous rest stop) and tipped the scales by voting to turn back. Priyanka was grateful and I was sincerely against resting.

On one day we went to this village mela (which was in my imagination something like the kumbh ka mela). We rented a bus and all of us piled in. The cook had packed copious amounts of food for a picinic dinner at the mela. Puris fried in sarson ka thel and some-very-healthy-but-tasteless-vegetable bhaji was the menu. I kept looking at the two baskets in dismay while constantly shaking my head. The mela was a sad thing, more like a small exhibition that we see in our place. It did have quaint souvneirs on sale, but no man breathing fire or brandishing his arm with a torch. Just some dumb parrots hanging on a thread and things like that. And when it was dinner time, the Head Of Camp (whom I shall call the HOC from now on. I really forgot his name, though I remember he looked a lot like amrish puri) spared me the pain of saying ‘no, I’m fasting’ by telling us we could have anthing at the stalls as we arent used to such food. We happily rushed off to a nearby stall and ordered pav bhaji. And when it arrived…. We decided to fast. Maybe the local Manali godess would bless us.

On another day we went to this plateau (its name starts from S but I cant seem to remember) to try our hands at para sailing. The whole lot of us boarded the bus and played antakshari while I cringed. Finally we reached there and lo!! One more picnic lunch, courtesy our cook. The lunch was some kind of rice. Now there was no escape here as there was no other source of food on that plateau. But I refused again saying that I cant eat before parasailing, as it would upset my stomach. The cook was ok with that. I really lost weight during this trek you know. Anyway the parasailing guys arrived with their equipment. The process was something like this: the person is strapped into the seat that was like a canvas bag. Then the parachute is spred and arranged behind you on the ground. And we had to take of running down the hill. You barely run a few feet that the chute lifts off and you start flying off. We had been shown the controls to navigate left and right. Becase we were novices, the trainer would never let go off the seat of the chute. So we werent allowed to fly more than 7 or 8 feet off the ground. On one of my runs the trainer lifted off the ground along with me too. he had to struggle a great deal to get his feet back on the ground. And in the ensuing struggle, we almost crashed into a tree and I eventually landed…. Ya you guessed it… on my bum.

But it was a great experience. The funny part was our Mam trying to force the trainers to let her try. They refused on the grounds that she was too heavy and she would never lift off. But she was persistent. They reluctntly gave in. And two trainers struggled to get her into the seat. And then she took off. Actually I should say she toooooook ooooofffffff, as it was rather slow. Anyway, the lack of speed and the weight combined resulted in the predicted outcome. She didn’t take off the ground, and in an attemp to bend her legs to lift off the ground, she fell and the chute softly collapsed over her. She made 2 attempts, both to the same effect.

To Be continued.....

Diya's Lil Sister

I’m the youngest of 3 children. The eldest is my sister Diya, who is 5 years older to me. And inbetween us two girls, was my brother John, who’s 3 years older to me. Now he was the only son, right, so he didn’t have many growing up issues, or for that matter clashes with his siblings. But me and my sister?? Now if we did’t have any growing up issues, my parents would have had a real uneventful life. We added the spice and my brother was the miraculous balm, he rarely did anything wrong.

They say every litter has an odd puppy. I was the odd one in this case. Both Diya and John were wheatish in complexion and thin. Diya was actually a stick. At some point in my teens I used to call her ‘4 in 1 chopsticks’. But I was dumped on this planet as a fair round thing. SO needless to say I didn’t resemble my brother and sister. Somehow people found it easier to excuse the fact that I didn’t resemble John. You know everyone expects the siblings of the same gender to resemble at least a lil. So whenever Diya introduced me to any of her friends as her lil sister, they would go, “Diya, you are kidding, right”.

Pic: Diya, John And Me

Being the lil sister I wanted to be included in everything my big sister did. But a 5 year age gap is hard to beat. When I was still in mid school, my sister was in junior college. So we had our disagreements. Once at school during break, I saw my sister crying in the last bench. And there were the inevitable group of girls consoling. I stood at the window thinking, “I’m her sister, I’m related by blood, I should be the one consoling”. And I seriously stepped up to take on the role of the consoler. I called out from the window, “Hey diya, what’s wrong??”. And my sister gave the usual big sister reply, “Rose, get lost”. Oh, I was so hurt, I slowly walked to my class fighting back tears, and as soon as I saw my friends, the tears came streaming down. Then they had the consoling job. :-)

It was the holidays and my sister was at home preparing for the entrance exams (she prepared by sleeping) and the maids hadn’t showed up. So like all moms, my mom was cribbing that there’s so much to do, and these kids don’t do any chores around the house. So when pappa came home for lunch, we got the inevitable order to set the table for lunch. Now me and my sister were in the close confines of a 8 ft x 10 ft kitchen, then how could there be any peace. We started arguing, Then we were pushing vessels here and there. And then the physical fights started. I had the tongs as my weapon, and my sister had a serving spoon. Eventually I scored a hit. The right thumb was hit, and my sister started howling, “I wont be able to write the entrance exam!! Its my right thumb”. And I had it from my parents. The funny part is there were around 40 days left for the exam!! Even a broken leg would have healed by then. And this was just a sprained thumb. The only way she would have missed the entrance was if she slept through it (and the chances were really high).

All 3 of us, me, john and Diya went to the same college and the same branch. So whenever any of the faculty would hear my last name, they ask, “Are you…” and I go, “Ya, I’m Diya’s sister”. And they go, “real sister???”. And I have to always say, “Yes, we have the same parents”. Now they have to say something nice right, so they say, “Ya… you have the same eyes as Diya’s.”. Ya right. All 3 of us wear spectacles. What are the chances that they pentrate my sister’s specs, look at her eyes, lock it in memory and 5 years later when they see me, penetrate my specs, see my eyes and BANG!!! “I have seen these eyes before…”. If it hadnt been for the same last name no one would ever know we were sisters.

Then there was the comparing problem. My teachers at school, my mother (never my father), lecturers in college, aunts and uncles, all of them. “Diya never did this. Diya never said that”. Seriously, I look absoulutely nothing like her, and they still expect me to act like her. What are they thinking. I cant keep count of the no of times I’ve had to say, “I’m not Diya”. As a result of the age gap, our bickerings and many other factors, we weren’t very close while growing up. We became close only after Diya started working (which implies wasn’t living with me). She used to come home only once in a fortnight and each of us tried to make the few days a month count. And before I knewn it she was married and some IIM guy had whisked her off to the states. I barely got the chance to experience sisterhood.

Now she’s a mother and has the world’s sweetest baby girl, Rachel. And guess who she resembles??? ME!!! If she resembles me, it means she doesn’t resemble Diya. He He..

Diya really had a tough time back at home when all my mom’s friends and even our relatives would keep saying that Rachel looks like me. My sister used to fume, and me?? I used to beam like a floodlight.

I think my toughest chore while growing up, was to wake up my sister (she loved and still loves to sleep). I had to wake her up in the morning, in the afternoon, and sometimes I had to wake her up to finish her lunch, cuz my sister had the habit of falling asleep while eating. This is not a lie. She obviously didn’t like to wake up, so I was usually yelled at and occaisonally had some things thrown at me. But Baby Rachel has taught her a lesson. But not much has changed. Now when I wake her in the morning, she goes, “Rose, hi…”, and rolls over. I then pick up the squirming bundle of joybeside her, and we have a great time bonding.

But now we are sort of close. Share stuff and all. Even laugh about our childhood. Now I think that our differences in childhood was a very small price to pay for the lovely relationship we have right now.

Now post pregnancy she has put on weight and looks something like me. You know, if you squint your eyes and look at us at a certain angle, you’ll notice our eyebrows resemble. ;-)

My Himalayan Trek - Part I

'My Himalayan Trek' has been written in 2 Parts.

I was in XI grade when our ex-guides teacher called a meeting of all the President awardee scouts and guides ( something you become after 5 years of guides classes and 13 camps later, at which point you are capable of living under a single tent with centipedes, termites, pregnant dogs and other guides, amid heavy downpour). We were all surprised, "wasn't all the scouts and guides stuff over in X grade??" Apparently not. We had the opportunity ( 'incredible blessing' according to my guides teacher) of going trekking to the Himalayas with a group of kids from another state. We were given the details and were asked to tell her if we were interested.

As we all walked out of the room, amid all the "wows", "incredibles", "ultimates" and "too goods", there was only one sarcastic voice that went "what bull, its never gonna happen!!!" That was ME.

Only the guys were considering it as a serious option, the girls were just oohing in their imagination. ( you know the same reasons, mummy wont allow, or Daddy said no). But nobody's plans materialized. But all of a sudden my friend Priyanka (or her mom. I'm not sure who) took some initiative and goaded ( please give some leeway for lil over as well as under exaggeration) me into agreeing. We'll collect more people she said. In the end, it was just the 2 of us, and our guides mam. My mom was dead against it. But my dad wanted me to go, he said its good exposure. Priyanka's mom was all for it too.

There were many discouraging signs. For instance, we werent getting any tickets at such a short notice. Then my principal tells us that the school will not take responsibility!!! (That scares my mom even more). Then my mam's purse gets stolen. Oh ya, The Purse which had all the money we had contributed for the program. It was damning really. Then everything sorted out. Our NCC sir's family cancelled out on him, so we had 3 tickets!!! ( and him too :-( ) Then the school board offered to pay the amount that was stolen. So my mom's prayers were'nt answered and her youngest daughter finally set out for the himalayas (with an upset stomach and too much luggage).

We reached delhi after a 2 day journey. I wouldn't say the journey was uneventful, but lets leave that out. We stayed there at Priyanka's uncle's place. We spent the next two days shopping (my favourite hobby) for back packs, gloves, rugged jeans and other trekking stuff. And then it was time for us to leave for Manali.

We boarded the bus and said our good byes. It was an overnight journey, which took more time than expected. Now, did I tell you that I sufffer from motion sickness. Oh ya. As we wound around the hills and headed for Manali, I started throwing up. My Mam then very happily gave up the window seat. All the alu parathas, oranges, etc., all of it was scattered all throught the route to Manali.

Some time late at night we were passing through Shimla, Priyanka woke me up to show me the beautifully lighted Shimla town. I promptly woke and threw up. She never asked for my opinion about Shimla after that.

We reached manali in mid morning. Our base camp was actually a dharmshala kind of place. You know, the big coutyard in the centre with a water pump. Some restaurants on the ground floor and rooms and dormitories in the floors above. I must confess, when i was told base camp, I was expecting something like a tent. Anyway we walked into the fresh and very frozen air of Manali (to my relief. Anything was a welcome change compared to that bus) and headed straight for the water pump. We just washed our hands and face. The water was so cold, that when I finished, my palms were blue. (THIS is not exaggeration).

We were shown to our room by this guard who I later learnt was to accompany us every where. We were given a single room with three beds. The other girls were 3-4 years younger to us and were all from the same school and were staying together in a dormitory a floor below ours. We were asked to get ready, as just the three of us and the guard had to take a walk around Manali and over a hill, that had a temple of sorts. Just to get used to the weather they said, but at the end of the walk we understood it was more helpful in getting used to our beloved Mam's intricacies (read as wierdness). SO we set out, jeans, sweaters and scarves in place. But our Mam dressed a lil specially. She found it necessary to wear a salwar (an indian dress) and a sweater on top of that. But she topped it all with track pants and jacket. So she stuffed herself and the salwar into the track suit which was grey by the way. So she actually looked like a lil grey baby elephant slowly rolling up the hill with the guard. We used to walk a lil faster (maybe cuz we were lighter), and whenever we looked back at her, it was hard to supress a smile. But she was one enthusiastic lady, and you couldn't beat her at that.

Contd...

Life as a Fat Girl

It was the X grade and ongoing was the fave subject of most pig tailed girls and some geeky guys - Biology. Our Bio mam was discussing the various illnesses caused due to deficiency or abundance of various vitamins, minerals and growth hormones. You know the list… Scurvy….. bow legs….. anaemia….. night blindness…. thyroid…. Elephantiasis…. At this point all the eyes turned towards me….

Didn’t I introduce myself?? Now you know anyway.

I’m the fat girl. There are many fat girls in every class. But I was The Fat Girl. I was very lucky to have been tall too, so it added to the general largeness. (I was dominating too – how scary!!! And to top that I have some shrill voice. I can actually crack china.)

Of course our beloved Bio mam went on to explain how I was no where near being considered for the elephantiasis case. But that didn’t seem to convince my classmates. I used to turn heads in class even for obesity u know. Once there was some blood donation drive in our school and they turned and looked at me for that too. Dumbasses think I’m fat because I’ve too much blood!! And to top it all I faint every time I’m pricked for a blood test. So I was some fat girl with too much blood who was selfish about giving away even a drop.

And once in X grade it so happened that I was trying to catch a friend, and we were running around the unused benches in the last. We used to have solid welded iron benches. And as my luck would have it I lost my balance and fell back on a bench….. And…. And it had to collapsed flat on the floor!!!! (we cant disappoint the class, can we??) It was one of the most humiliating momnets of my life. How was I to explain that!! I used to sit everyday on a bench of its kind, it never collapsed. After a couple of hours,only after a couple of hours of humiliation and wondering on my part, did a couple of guys tell me that the bench was already broken and that’s why it was propped back up and put in the last. Now that was a relief for me. But my class refused to believe it. And to this date, it seems to be the most memorable moment of X grade for all my classmates. When ever I meet some classmate after a long time, they still remind me of it.

You must be pitying me. Feeling sorry for me. You might see me as a fat girl sitting in a corner all by myself, shy, no friends….. Let me tell you, you couldn’t be more mistaken. I was in fact one of the most popular girls in my class. To this date I don’t think there’s even one student who doesn’t remember me. Because I was not just The Fat Girl, I was also The Girl. ( Not The Girl who captures hearts, I was fat remember. That was my friend Priyanka ) I was The Girl who took initiative. I was talented. Smart. Orator. Always the leader, prefect, etc(not by choice I swear. I swear on my cholestrol infested heart). I was everywhere. Sports. Arts. Debates. Quizes. Drama. Recitation!!! I had no inhibition. I participated in just simply everything and won in most. So how could i not be popular? And of course, i was fat.

But as I grew older, I also tucked in a bit. And then in XI grade I went trekking with my friend Priyanka and our guides teacher to the himalayas. ( This is material for another post ). Anyway, the rarefied air and in my case the rare concept of exercise helped lose a lot of weight. In fact I was looking almost normal.

So when I returned and walked towards my friends group, I was really hurt when no one waved and welcomed me after an absence of 20 days. The reason? They never recognized me. I was really very thrilled when I heard that!!! It was like the ultimate fat-girl revenge.

But of course I cudnt disappoint them for long. I gradually put on some of the kilos, but I never went back to the Fat Girl status. Wonder why? First of all because I didn’t put on all the weight I lost. But mainly because, all round me, my classmates were growing taller and filling out (some were even overflowing). So I was no longer The Fat Girl (when considered relatively to those around me). I comfortably settled into the overweight or plump girl status. But even then, I was the only one teased about the weight. I guess they got used to it. I used to feel bad initially.

At one point I was almost anorexic. I used to barely eat a meal once in 3 days, that too no carbohydrate, only fibre and protein. I eventually went down to slim, but then the sudden weight loss brought about typhoid fever and that was the end of dieting.

Even during my slim stage, I was teased about my weight!!! Its then that I realized, it's as natural for them as calling me by my name.

I’m fat again. Oops…. I mean plump. And I’m in one of my anorexic stages. When I’ve lost some weight, I shall post a photo. Until then, its Fat Girl signing off. (Oops again.... Plump Girl signing off).

The Answerable Youth

A Warm welcome.... to the young and the old, the big and the small, the rich and the poor, the employed and the unemployed. But most of all to the youth of today.

All of us in some point of our lives have been told by our parents, teachers or elders, that we are the youth of today, in whose hands lies the future of the nation. We are the youth of today, answerable for the state of the government and politics, state of the roads and forests, state of the global finance and internal budgets, state of exports and imports, future of IT and biomedical industry. We are the 'youth of today'. We are the 'Answerables'.

Of course this forms only one part of the lecture, the other part goes something like this...... "You!!! YOU!!!! Oh...o, you think you are answerable, do you. All you think of is boys or girls, new shoes, new bike, computer and TV. Friends are God, Parents should be forsaken by God. The fate of our nation rests with you mindless drones and good for nothings. Corruption will never be wiped off the face of our country. We are doomed!!!....." With this they roll their eyes and give an imploring look towards heaven. And of course, they shake their head. This action is performed throughout the lecture, reaching a frenzy towards the end.

And what's your reaction??? You get thinking... (Even you are surprised that you can think) "Am I responsible, Answerable?? Is some one like me going to govern....? (The TV distracts you: It's Baywatch).... Oh Ya Baby....
End of thought process.

If you are above 16 and have never received some form of the 'answerables' lecture in your life, then you might not be from this planet. I have received versions of this talk. (But my mom never called me a mindless drone; she preferred 'stubborn buffalo', in native terms)

Do you really think the Youth of today will ever shoulder responsibility?? To ease our Guilt lets look towards our elders. Were all our moms born in saris with pallus tucked in at their waists? Were all our dads born with bald heads, mustaches and spectacles?? I don’t think so. I have heard quiet a few nutty deeds of my parents and uncles. Some were insistent on breaking their bones and wounding themselves very often, while others have taken a lil more than necessary time to complete their education. But they have all turned up fine. All of them are today successful doctors, engineers or business men.

Then why does the older generation worry so much about today’s youth. They say that we didn’t do this when we were young and we didn’t do that. But they did quiet a lot of nutty stuff, and so do we. There is a difference in the nature of our nuttiness owing to the number of electronic and mechanical inventions and also the short skirts and tight jeans. But it's nuttiness none the less. For example, in the times of our parents and grand parents, more than half the people either didn’t pass their educational course or dropped out from it. But today most of us pass out with flying colors, some into successful jobs and others into colorful pubs. But we pass out none the less.

To ease your worry and guilt further, look towards the example of Amitabh Bachchan. Though he was born to a literary genius, he was not very inclined on education, high marks and so on. In fact he was a regular face at Delhi pubs at night. Lots of dancing. And he wanted to get into cinema, which in those times barely had any prospects. I'm sure he got the 'answerables' lecture from his dad many times. But would anyone at that time have imagined that he would be the face of India on the global frame? He turned out fine, didn’t he?

So will we.

If all moms and dads look into their pasts, they'll know that we'll be fine. Of course, a lil prodding here and there from them, a lil stumbling here and there from us. But we'll be fine. I might not become the Prime Minister, you might not become the President, My best friend may not become the CEO of a leading IT company. But someone will. And then how hard can it be to govern a country?? (All you have to know is how to steal....)

SO moms and dads, we'll be just fine...... and.... Ahem..... I suppose, dandy...