Monday, June 10, 2013

Baarish




Thandi hawa ke jhokno ke saath
Ek halki si chaah hai woh laati hai haath

Ek alag sa hara rang bichate huye
Apni baahon mein rimzhim tarane leheratein huye

Sunheri yaadon ki muskaan sajate huye
Baadolon ko apne sang ghoomatein huye

Laati hai apne saath
Un khushiyon ki saugat
Un armanon ki baraat
Un muskarahaton ki yaad

Jab tum they jawaan
Aur hum they haseen
Jab nazron mein they sapne
Aur dil mein yakeen

Jab haathon mein they haath
Aur door door tak ka tha saath
Jab bheeg jaane mein tha mazaa
Aur botol ke bahar hota tha nasha

Jab asmaan mein udhne ki thi khawish
Aur dil mein thi zara si khalish
Jab paas rehkar bhi lagti thi doori
Aur door rehna tha ek majboori

Ab bhi yeh baarish hai utni hi khaas
Aur dil ko hota hai yeh ehsaas
Shayad yeh baarish choo legi tumhein
Kuch jis tarah chooha tha usne humein

Yaad karoge humein tum baarish ki bahane
Aur humari yaadon ko rakhoge apne sirhane
Haath badake boodon ko pakadoge
Aakhen moondein palakon par rakhoge

Woh hi baarish hai, woh hi zameen
Pur ab hum hain kahin, aur tum ho kahin

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Business knows no religion

I went to Chor Bazaar today. Or as my Spanish colleague referred to it- 'Antique market'. He was shocked to know I had never been there. Trying to explain to him that I am a 'Juhu girl' who hates traveling beyond Bandra would not mean much to him.

 I had to travel to Worli on work many moons ago when I was young and thin- well at least young. And like a princess my dad used to drop me and my friend Sonul's dad used to pick us up. Or the other way round. And I used to whinge about the travel time- much like Sanil does now. 

Between Prithivis, Silver Beach, Juhu Church, Qualities and the bhel puri wala near my building, I had everything I could possibly want. Why bother with the needless travel? However I thought now that I was 'this side of town' I should not pass up the chance of visiting the legendary Chor Bazaar. I always wanted to, but the hike from Juhu made it a daunting task.

Well I have digressed...this post is about religion, or rather how religion agnostic business is.

 I was explaining to my Spanish colleague about the Indian God Structure. I started with  the God trinity- Shiva the destroyer, Brahma the creator and Vishnu the....err I stumbled. For the life of me could not remember. So I skipped that and moved over to Ganpati (0r Gantapi as Sanil used to say)- the elephant God-  remover of obstacles. Hanuman then monkey god. Krishna of Hare Rama Hare Krishna fame. And ....well that's pretty much where I got to.

While I was explaining this we were in a small store, that magically became a lengthy maze of artifacts '500 years old'. The owner was a Muslim like most shop owners in Chor Bazaar are. He explained that Vishnu was the Protector. He then went on to show my colleague beautiful Madonna statutes. And stone carvings of various saints. He knew all their names. "This is Saint Roch because you can see the dog next to him". I was clueless. 10 years of Convent education and I had no idea what he was talking about. He explained how he bought them from Goa where a church could not be maintained, so they were selling off the carvings. He gave the whole history of Portuguese influence in Goa. 

While my colleague was admiring the. Rs 20,000 stone carvings, I asked the owner about Krishna statues and he asked me back if I wanted one with Radha or Krishna alone? Did I want a 'bal ladoo Gopal'? Errr what? I had no idea Krishna was called that. Then he went on to show me the variety of Krishna murtis available whilst chatting to my colleague about various Mother Mary statues. He spoke about Buddha statues and Sai Baba with equal ease.

His kids kept coming to the back of the showroom looking for their dad. It stuck me how his only religion at that time  was his work and his business. To make the sale and earn the money, to give his children a better life. He was knowledgable about all  Gods. You might say, that's his business and he has to do this make a living. Whatever be the reason, during his business hours he had no religion. 

His religion lives in his heart, in his home, in his place of worship. Where it would stay, if outside influences don't bring it in every time there is an election or a terrorist attack. He probably does not care for any of it, but he is made to choose. Organized religion inculcates fear, which usually triumphs. 

We all work with people from different religions. My Creative Director was a staunch Christian, copy writer an atheist, art director was a Muslim and I a Hindu. No one ever asked anyone about their religion. We worked as a team... probably for a Jewish client. We put our passion into our work. Our religion was our work. We did not are about anything else. The aim was to do great work, and yes earn our accolades at the end of the project, and salaries at the end of the month.

Why then do people let religion be a barrier in other aspects of our their lives? Live and let live has always been my philosophy. Just like at work, let's keep religion out of everything else. It would make lives more peaceful for everyone around. And we all could really do with some peace.

Spiritually yours

Seema

Written from roof top lounge at ITC Grand Central, Mumbai. 

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Mumbai Musings

Only in Mumbai 

- You have to pay $34 for one mojito to watch a gorgeous sunset from a roof top bar- which would cost you nothing if you simply sat by Marine Drive.

- Sari salesgirls promote their product by blatantly acknowledging its a 'ditto Masaba original copy'. Err an original copy? 

- You can try 20 pieces of shoes and leave without buying a single pair after one hour, and the smile from the salesman face won't fade. He may curse you under his breath after you leave, but 'service with a smile' is all prevalent

- A rickshaw driver will waive the change with a 'Agli baar milenge phir de dena'. (Give it when we meet next). With over 300,000 rickshaws in Mumbai probability of that happening is negligible, but the sentiment is heart warming

- An awesome breakfast can be had for less than $3

- Car drivers are gracious and kind, and luxury car owners are rude and obnoxious

- Elitist attitudes gain respect and entry pretty much everywhere. Wearing designer sunglasses adds to the credibility 

- Girls in hot pants and cleavage showing singlets shop for lehenegas 

- Mobile penetration is higher than high school registration

-  Sari blouses are sexier and more revealing than evening gowns

- Eunuchs say you are 'Sonakshi Sinha' and pray you get your Salman*

-  Kids ardently dream of being Sachin Tendulkar more than being Messi

- Sunday lunches with family as revered a ritual as Friday nights out with friends

- Beach welcomes everyone, but the hotel beach front properties won't let you in unless you don't look the part. Again designer sunnies and a attitude always gains entry

- The mind dwells on stress, while the heart beats in hope 

Mumbai is a city of contradictions, an existence of paradoxes. It oozes energy and frowns at failure. Yet it accepts everyone- rich-poor, big-small, smart-dumb, black-white. You make of it whatever you are capable of.

* when it happened to me yesterday I asked him/her to pray for Aamir not Salman. When they complied I gave them Rs. 100 each, thinking its only 50 cents. Yeah, my mental math skills are atrocious. It's nearly $5, but then that's the price of my daily coffee cup. 

Monday, May 27, 2013

Confessions of a control freak


Hold tight, don't let go.
Keep close, don't let it show.
Steady. Don't crumble. 
Control. Don't fumble.

Keep it together.
Do not falter.
Head held high.
Breath. Do not sigh.

Be fearless. Be brave.
There are some close shaves.
But hold the reins tight.
Never give up without a fight.

Persevere. Tirelessly.
Work. Effortlessly.
Focus. Relentlessly.
Improve. Constantly.

When can I stop?
Can I even get off?
Should I release the hold? 
Will it spiral out of control?

I want to try.
To start with a cry.
Then loosen the grasp.
Without so much as a gasp.

To stand back.
And cut some slack.
To cease pulling. 
To stop controlling.

My grip is loose.
And I wish to choose.
Faith over fear.
Smiles over sneers.

I won't be in the driving seat.
My heart will probably miss a beat.
But I will let go.
And the universe will know.

I am ready. I am willing.
And I won't be as controlling.
I will let the universe decide.
And take it all in my stride.

I will try and let go.
I believe I will gain more. 

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Wish List


'Ask and you shall receive'. That is what I was taught by the nuns in the convent school. It's one lesson I never learnt. I can't ask anyone for anything. I may imply things, and my logic is people who know me well enough should know exactly what I want.
I have recently discovered that this is not a fool-proof plan. In fact its a plan for fools. Which is what I am...most of the times...

So I am trying to change, and ask for things I want, or at least need.

Hence when someone asked me to make a wish list of all things I wanted and guaranteed it would be fulfilled, I thought this was my chance to prove I can practice the 'ask and you shall receive' teaching. 

So here goes nothing...

My wish list in no order of priority:

 1) Knight in shining umbrella- I hate carrying umbrellas. So anytime it rains, I want a knight who will give me shelter under his umbrella. Or offer me a spare one. Either way. Am not fussed.

2) Lady's Maid- because of the Downton Abbey hangover, I too want my own lady's maid. Who will do my hair, dress me up and be at my every beck and call. And I want her to be just like Lady Mary's Anna.

3) Personal Chauffeur- With the cab situation in Singapore, this is a very reasonable ask.  I need a personal chauffeur who will be a phone call away. On weekends, he should pick me up on a motor bike, and during office days in a car. It need not be a Rolls Royce. Am not demanding you see. And if its raining, he needs to get the Knight in shining umbrella along, or double up as one.

4) Back and neck massages- Twice a day for an hour each 

5) Teletransporter to Bombay- whenever I fee like a good bhel puri and/or pau bhaji. Or just when I want see mom and dad. 

6) Movie watching partner- Must be happily willing to watch the movie of my choice without any whining. And stand in line to buy the popcorn. Salted. 

7) Sky diving pusher- Someone who would push I.e. encourage me to sky dive and when the time comes actually push me off the plane too. I really want to sky dive, just don't have the balls to do it.

8) Unicorns jumping over rainbows- Yes I know that does not exist. But want someone who can make me close my eyes and believe that it does. 

9) Twinkle Toes- Once in my life I want to dance gracefully...in high heels...and a flamenco skirt...and twirl a fan. All at the same time.

10) Finally I wish for the power to believe that there is genie who will fulfill all my wishes :)

Wishfully yours

Seema 

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Of Mothers and Daughters. Happy Mother's Day


Of Mothers and Daughters

When you become a mom yourself, it makes you aware of everything you have put your mum through. And you finally understand what unconditional love is all about. But you also get a little lost in your own motherhood trials and joys that the time you had in your life for your own mum, goes down. Though her value goes up exponentially. 

My post yesterday spoke about the beautiful bond between mums and sons. Mothers and daughters have an equally beautiful though a different type of bond. 

Mothers and daughters are naturally tied together in love. But this bond also has a friendship. It has a kinship. Its based on shared experiences and common likes.  It has its ground in similar desires and subsequently similar scarifies. It's a relationship of equal footing, pretty much from the onset. There is a tinge of competitiveness. And there is bulk of appreciation. 

Its about routine conversations tempered with family gossip.

About having mum recipes yet always feeling that it never turns out like hers.

About shared experiences and hidden secrets.

About hand-me-down saris and jhumkas that are still your favourite ones.

About eye contacts that pass messages oblivious to everyone else in the room.

My mum has always been my voice of reason. She never minced her words and held up the mirror no matter how the ugly the reflection was. I am forever grateful for that. She showed me my true self, while constantly encouraging me to better myself.

There were as many pats on the back for job well done as there pushes to trudge me along. There were as many encouraging words as there were rule books. As much laughter as there were tears. And memories to last a lifetime.

The mother-daughter bond grows stronger over the years. When I was a a toddler, I was such a daddy's girl- to some extent still am. I used to lie to my dad that my mum scolded me, just so that he would take me in his lap and console me. It drove my mum mad, as I can so imagine now. 

As I grew older I confided in her more and more. I used to come back from school and sit on the kitchen counter and tell her everything that happened in the day while she made my favourite bread pakoras. 

In my teen years she took me shopping even though it exasperated her that I was not a careful shopper. I did not bother looking at ten shops before buying one item. I bought the first one I liked. She still can't fathom my shopping ways. 

As I grew older she became my friend and was always around to listen. The endless stories and the unending sagas. They grew more complicated and intense with time, but she listened patiently. Like she does till date. 

All mums make sacrifices. My mum made many too. She did not buy a new sari for her niece's wedding so I could buy contact lenses instead of wearing my glasses. She gave up eating meat years ago, but made the best koftas and fried fish for us. She walked to the market instead of taking the rickshaw so she could save money for that extra chocolate bar. She went to school to copy pages and pages of notes when I was bed ridden at home with a fracture. She stayed up nights when I was studying for my board exams and made me coffee in the wee hours of the morning. 

I can't possibly  list everything she has done for me. Even a million pages won't be sufficient.

Mama I love you. I may not say it as often now. But I love you so much. 

Yes mothers and daughters share a special bond. It's the bond above all else. It's the bond of motherhood. 

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Of Mothers and Sons

I cried. In the doctors clinic and then sitting on a bench on Orchard Road. In the middle of Singapore's bustling shopping street. I cried. Actually I bawled. Reason was that the gynae had just informed me that I was going to have a boy.

A boy?! What was I supposed to do with a BOY? I could hear my dreams being smashed like glass that cracks when a rock is thrown at it. Dreams of ribbons and laces. Or reading Enid Blyton novels under the afternoon sun in a park. Of playing dress up. Of having a room full of Barbie dolls. Or sharing secrets over the kitchen counter. And watching old episodes of 'Gilmore Girls' together. Of doll houses and tutus. It was all over now!

I know. All one should ever hope for is a healthy baby. I was VERY grateful that I was going to be a mum. I wanted to be one since I was 18. This was happening 10 years too late. So I was extremely thrilled and immensely excited. But I would be lying if I don't say that I was disappointed too.







However nothing could have prepared me for what would happen when I held Sanil in my arms for the first time. There is a gush of love that you never knew you could feel for any one individual. There was feeling of intense protectiveness. I will never ever let anything happen to my little baby. I will shield him from every pain, every hurt. And in a few days I had to take him for his first vaccination and I cried. He didn't. But I did. The doctor looked at me and sympathetically said 'If you cry every time, he cries, you won't last very long'. I though b%^&% in my head but smiled politely.

Now am sure every mum feels like that about their newborn. However as time progressed I realized that a bond that a mother shares with her son, is totally something else. I once read somewhere 'Being a mother to a son is like being the only star in your very own Hollywood production'. You are the be-all-and-end-all of his existence. At least till the girlfriends start circling like vultures. Ok. I know I am being nasty, but I can't imagine myself actually liking any of his girlfriends. And I digress...

There is still time for that...for now I want to only think of him as my baby.

When he was 3 months old I started work again. I came home in the evenings and held him in my arms to feed him, he would hold my finger so tightly. Like he would never let go of me.


He used to sleep in his cot in our room. He never cried when he woke up. But I knew his routine. So I used to wake up at 7 am and look over his cot. And there was the most beaming smile I could ever receive from anyone. He would raise his arms and I scooped him up and gave him a tight hug.
Since he could talk, he told me everything. And I mean everything. Every small minute detail that happened in the day. When he started with 'Mama you know what' or 'Mama I have to tell you something', I knew long stories with dramatic expressions would fill the next 10 minutes. I listened patiently. I never wanted to story to end.

Boys are boys. They are boisterous, loud and sometimes obnoxious. They prefer soccer to books and 'Iron Man' to 'Little Women'. They don't see anything wrong in being dirty or muddy. And can't fathom what's the big fuss about clean floors.


They look up to their dads , their uncles, their grand-dads and want to be the 'man'. However they become little babies with the mamas. Mamas who cuddle them, wipe their tears and nurse the bruised knees. Also the same mamas who push them to their potential. Who steer them when they seem to lose their way. Who know commanding won't get you anywhere. But minor cajoling will. Who encourage their passions. And help them overcome their shortcomings. Who are honest yet loving. Truthful yet caring. I am so not one of the mum who believes her son can do no wrong. In fact sometimes I feel I am harsher than necessary. I can't raise a delusional child who thinks he's always right. I can only encourage him constantly to be the best he can be.



Mums are the only ones who boys are truly vulnerable with. They open their hearts and share their souls.

When they are rude, you know they are actually scared

When they are grinning, you know they have done something naughty

When they are concentrating, you know it's really important

When they are angry, you know they are actually sad

When they are annoyed, you know they are actually disappointed

And you learn this very quickly. So you adapt your reaction to the real emotion behind the mask.

It's an unending bond. That becomes looser when they approach their tweens. They become more sullen, more uncommunicative and sometimes aloof. Their eyes are glued to cricket and fingers are busy with the iPad. Their friends become the centre of their existence.

And just when you worry that you have lost them, they give you a tight hug out of nowhere and beg you to play UNO with them.

You just have to be there. Sometimes be content to watch from the sidelines. And wait. Patiently. Because they will come back to you. May be not as often as when they were 5. But they will. And get interested in what interests them. Even if it means watching reruns of IPL and hearing stories about soccer goals till your head hurts. Or even learning the ridiculous Gangnam Style...and enjoying it


It is an eternal bond. It never breaks. And when it gets loose, let go, instead of holding on.

I don't know if I am successfully doing it, but am sure hell trying.

Happy Mothers Day!

'All I needed to do to find the perfect man, was to give birth to one' Miranda Hobbes Sex and the City

My newborn baby! At the naming ceremony
At B-Ita's Wedding. All of 11 months

Awwwww
Big Brother to Little Myrah