Tuesday, April 3, 2018

"My brain is my enemy."

Image result for my brain is my enemy

My WhatsApp profile picture is black today and my status message says, "My brain is my enemy." So far, only one friend noticed and asked, "Is it as a tribute to the depressed journo?" Yes, it is.

She jumped from the fifth floor down to her death. And all the note in her handbag said was "My brain is my enemy."

Radhika Reddy, a Telugu news anchor, was suffering from depression and she knew it. What prevented her from seeking professional help, I wonder. Is it the social taboo attached to mental illness?

Many of us know we have depression, anxiety, obsession...but we never seek professional help because our society believes mental illness is a curse. Even educated people like Radhika shy away from seeing a psychiatrist or a clinical psychologist.

Radhika probably just jumped into impulsive suicide and could have been saved with timely intervention. The term 'impulsive suicide' probably makes no sense to people who have never experienced depression. Please note that, depression, unlike mere unhappiness, is usually a longer, deeper feeling of hopelessness.

Suicidal depression is like an impulsive need to kill oneself. It's not that death suddenly seems very attractive to a depressed person. It is not true that depressed people are unafraid of death.

It is more like the need to jump out of the window of a high-rise building on fire. It's not that they are not afraid of death or of falling. It's the terror of the approaching flames that makes them jump out of the window. That's what happens when a depressed person is desperately trying to run away from the flames that seem to be burning him. He just leaps out of the window to save himself from the flames. He leaps to his death to run away from all the things that seem to depress him. "And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling." writes American novelist David Foster Wallace. 

When I go through depression, I just want the people around me to understand that mood disorders like depression does not mean my character is flawed or that I am a weak person. Depression is not something that will go away by simply thinking positive. So, stop telling me to think positive and hang on!

Depression is a medical condition caused by a change in the chemistry of the body and the brain. When I am depressed, I am probably feeling intensely sad without any particular reason. I am probably feeling low in energy and am unable to concentrate. I am fighting my own brain, my mind. You may suggest going back to my hobbies because you know it gave me happiness at one time. But do you even understand that when I am going through depression, I really don't want to do the things I once loved?

Don't ask me what exactly is it that is making me feel so depressed! It may help others. I don't know. Every time you ask me this, I wish I could shout back and say, "Damn it! I don't know what it is. I am just fighting the chemical locha in my brain. Leave me alone."

Even if I tell you to leave me alone, when you think I am depressed, just be there. Be around to hold my hand, to hug me, to listen to me.. or just let me know you are there just in case I need you. Depression is difficult...for you, my friends and family, and for me.

Friday, February 23, 2018

Moms, be tough!

I don't know how many of you can relate to this. I can and I know my mom can too. "When you are a mom yourself, you will realize how tough it is," she often used to say.

Very often I have been reprimanded for reprimanding my kids...reprimanded by my mother-in-law, my husband, my dad, even the elderly family help, Manorama...

I have been reprimanded ...for pointing out mistakes to my current maid. Every time, I have tried pointing out errors by kids or maids, I have been asked to be more patient with them...to stay calm, to talk without raising my voice, to stop pointing out errors and start guiding instead.

To those who believe I have been rude with the kids or the maid, I say this...

Touch wood. I have never thrown out a maid and never ever has a maid quit because she disliked me as a master. They have had their own personal reasons for quitting though. But, my house is often in a mess. It is not spic and span like many other households.

My children haven't been brats. They sleep when they want to, get up when they want to, study when they feel like, watch TV when they want to...eat when they want...They have their own minds and do things their ways.

When I was being tough, I was trying to make my kids tough too...trying to turn them into persons they would be proud of later in life. Preparing them for life's realities. Can't say right now if I failed to make them strong persons. It will show up only later.

But today, I am more worried about what it has done to me! Every time I have been asked to stop shouting at the kids or to stop pointing out errors made by the maid, I have stopped and thought if I was actually wrong...if my way of dealing with situations that I don't like, was wrong...more often than not, I have felt weaker after that.

When you stop a mother from being tough on her kids, you may be building what looks like a happy smiling family...but you stop a woman from being strong and tough...you question her natural parenting skills...you break her down piece by piece. You stop her from raising her voice against things that she believes are wrong. You stop her from believing a mom can be right too. You break down her confidence in her own beliefs.

Nice video. Watch it.


If you go through it too and can relate to it, do leave behind a comment to

#StandByToughMoms . Be a tough mom and your kids will be better off. #BeingWoman

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

The fish fry feminism and stories from my life

I read about Rima Kallingal's TedX talk on how fish fry was relevant to feminism. Couldn't help but remind myself of my childhood.

I used to fight with Bou, my mother, for always asking my brother if he wanted a second piece of fish without hardly ever asking me. Whenever she used to ask my brother for a second piece of fish, I used to snap back at her, "Mote ta pachariluni? You are discriminating. Mu 'girl child' boli mote second piece pachariluni. Pua boli taku besi gelha karuchu!"(You didn't ask me. You are discriminating. I am a girl child and so you did not ask me for a second piece. He is your son. Therefore, you love him more!).

Fish is my favorite non-vegetarian food. Yet, I cannot have too much. 

My feminist mom often got angry if I accused her of gender discrimination. She used to say, "Naunu! Tote kiye manaa karichi? Tote pacharile sabubele manaa karuchu. Kahuchu gotiye piece khaibu boli. Mu ta khushi hebi tu khaile...tu ta khauni. Siye dekhilu kete khushi re second piece khauchi!" (Why don't you take? Who has asked you not to? If I ask you, you always say you want only a single piece. I would be happy if you ate more. Look at him...he is so happy to eat a second piece.)

This 'girl child discrimination' discussion had become a joke at home every time Bou asked my brother if he wanted a second piece. I and my female cousins were never really discriminated against and were often given more opportunities than the boys as all the boys were younger.

My childhood home has never let the girls or women of the house feel they were any different from the boys or men. Maa, my grandmother, was a strong lady who believed in absolute equality among the genders. I don't remember ever being asked to sit properly or talk softly because we were girls. I could lie down on the bed with my legs resting high up on the wall and it was perfectly okay. Maa would fart while the family was watching TV and it was okay for everyone. No one had ever questioned why I had more male friends than female ones.

Maa drove her husband to office in the 1950s-60s and it was perfectly fine for Jeje, my grandfather. If the motor that pumped water to our overhead tank did not function, Maa never waited for her sons to repair it. It was perfectly okay for her or me to go do that. If she was unwell and the cook had not turned up, it was not necessary that her bohu or granddaughter had to get up and cook. If I was studying and Bou was out of the house, it was perfectly fine for Bapa to cook whatever he could.

Maa was very clear. Apa and I needed to learn how to climb mango trees, shoo away vultures from the coconut trees and ride bicycles and scooters as much as the boys needed to. No one ever questioned why I loved running after kites more than playing hop scotch.

The fish fry 'discrimination' remained. Bou often forgot to offer me a second piece because I never really ate a second piece ever.

In many households, it is usually the females who serve the food and eat the last. Not in our childhood home. Bou could never stand hunger. Though she was the bohu of the house, she often had her breakfast first, immediately after she had bathed. She was never required to wait for others...not even her sasu. We could all have later as and when we wanted. In the evenings, Maa and Baba, my uncle, had dinner before the rest of us. Simply, because they needed to take certain medications on time. After them, all four of us including Bou used to sit down for dinner. There has never been a need for a woman of the house to serve the men folk first and have food only later. Read here about why Indian women must eat with their families.

When I got married, things changed overnight. There was no major gender discrimination as such. But the subtle ways left a lasting impression. I was introduced to a different cultural upbringing.

On the very next day of my marriage, I was told to sleep properly...No no... I was not sleeping with my legs raised to the wall. Was conscious about that, at least...I was in a house where I had never been before and the people around me were all strangers. Plus there was no way I could raise my legs on to a wall...the only wall close enough was on the head end.

I was sleeping on my back. A woman should have been sleeping on her side, you see! My legs were apart. I was told to sleep 'like a woman'. I was expected to get up early and bathe before the men (okay, there was only one man) even got up from their slumber.

My mother-in-law would serve food and make sure all of us had enough to choke ourselves on before she sat down and had her food. She loves to feed, I was told. My question was, why couldn't she sit with us and have food while making sure every one was having enough too. Why did she need to eat the last? Isn't it a kind of subtle discrimination that has been fed into her brain right from childhood and she is unable to break out of that?

Well, it's not that, I am told. It's just the culture of that family. Someone has to stand at the table and feed others before sitting down to have her food. People who love to serve do that as a gesture to show that they are enjoying it. When I built my home, I realized it wasn't just that my MIL used to do that. I realized even her son loved to feed people and loved to have food last. Even at parties we host at home, he prefers to eat last...after everyone else has had. Maybe the joy of cooking and serving is deeply ingrained in him. And he does that out of his love for doing so...Even when I try serving guests, he never forgets to lend a hand and does help a lot in the kitchen and at the table.

So,  my friends, this is not such a simple thing about gender discrimination of the subtle nature... It is more about who loves doing it...and what kind of rituals and cultures one was exposed to while growing up. Cultures in India are definitely changing, bringing in more equality among the sexes. I see that in the pride my MIL takes about her son's cooking and tatting abilities.

Feminism is not about making men do the women stuff or making women do the men stuff. It is only about giving women equal rights and opportunities as men without any fixed notions or biases against any one gender.

We need to stop telling our girls:
"Sit properly like a girl."
"You are a girl. Talk softly."
"You are young woman already and you don't even know how to make tea?"

We also need to stop telling our boys:
"Boys do not cry."
"Pink is a girl-color. Let's buy you the blue shirt."
"Why do you play with the kitchen set all day? When will you realize you are a boy?"

Equality must begin at home.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Odia food: Ghanta tarkari

Today's a special day in Odisha. Women in kitchens across the state are preparing a common dish - the ghanta tarkari (a beautiful medley of vegetables and sprouts with no onion and no garlic).

Though it is a common dish in most Odia households, today's ghanta tarkari is special. This one day of the year...everybody looks forward to ghanta tarkari...not just the one cooked in their house but those cooked by their neighbors.

As a child I remember my grandma and mom preparing for this special dish at least a couple of days ahead of this day. They would soak whole moong and chana overnight and drain them the next morning, carefully leaving it in a vegetable strainer with a lid on so that the warmth would germinate the seeds. 

And then the day before they are supposed to cook a huge dekchi full of ghanta tarkari, they would shop for all kinds of vegetables...almost all kinds of vegetables go into this single dish. 

Loads and loads of vegetables are cut in the morning. Coconut is scraped or cut into tiny bits. 

Women of the house gather to discuss how Renu apa's ghanta tarkari was awesome last year or how Meena apa's ghanta tarkari could have been better. Grandma would analyze what made our ghanta tarkari the second best in the neighborhood and suggest ways how mom could balance the amount of different vegetables, how adding some more pumpkin this year would make this year's ghanta score 10/10 for our family. A silent ghanta tarkari competition of sorts. 

As children, how we loved running around distributing hot ghanta tarkari to all our neighbors. And sampling all the ghanta tarkaris from our neighbors' kitchens.

In north India, people exchange sweets on Diwali. In Odisha, today is the day when people exchange ghanta tarkari with friends and relatives.
And if you are wondering what labor goes into it, here's the simple recipe of how I cooked my ghanta tarkari this morning. 


  • Pointed gourd/ parwal (potala) - 6 pieces
  • Indian beans (simba) - 6-7 pieces
  • French beans (bean) - 200g
  • Cow beans/black eyed beans/lobia (jhudunga) - 250g
  • Brinjal (baigana) - 200g
  • Ash gourd (paani kakharu) - 250g
  • Cucumber (budha kakudi) - 1 big one
  • Carrot - 1
  • Radish -1
  • Colocasia roots/arbi (saru) - 4 pieces
  • Pumpkin (kakharu) - 750 g
  • Elephant apple (oau) -1/4 ( use one that's not ripe and not too young...young ones taste bitter; The fruit has many layers of flesh and it is hard on the outside. First cut this fruit into half. Remove the inner portion. Separate the layers and cut then into thin long pieces. Always better to remove the skin of the outer layer. The inner portions are slimy, carefully cut it. For this recipe, I prefer to coarsely crush the pieces.) 
  • Spouts of moong and chana - 1 1/2 cup (I love sprouts)
  • Turmeric powder (haladi gunda) - 2 tsp
  • Ginger (ada) - 1 inch cut into small pieces and crushed
  • Bay leaves (teja patra) - 2
  • Cumin seeds (jeera) - 4 tsp
  • Red chillies (sukhila lanka) - 6
  • Coconut – cut into small pieces (kata nadia) - 1/4cup 
  • Coconut - scraped (kora nadia) - 1/2 cup
  • Refined vegetable oil (tela) - 2 tablespoons
  • Salt to taste 


Roast half the cumin seeds and red chilies in a pan and then make rough powder of the same. Keep it aside.

Cut the vegetables after thoroughly washing them. Boil all the cut vegetables (except the elephant apple). Add salt, turmeric powder, ginger, bay leaves. When the vegetable are almost cooked, add the sprouts and the coarsely crushed pieces of elephant apple. The elephant apple adds a tangy taste to the tarkari. Adding it earlier may mean you will need more cooking time for the other vegetables. After adding the sprouts and elephant apple, cook for 2 minutes.

Heat oil in another pan. Add the cumin seeds and 3 red chillies to it. After they crackle, add the boiled mixture of vegetables etc. and stir continuously. Add the coconut pieces. Put the pan on low flame for 3 to 4 minutes. Add the scraped coconut. Add the cumin seeds and red chilli powder to the pan and stir well. Now your Ghanta is ready to be served.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Origami - Sea Creatures

We are in a 'crafty' mood again.

My schoolgoing child is preparing for an Origami competition in school tomorrow. And he wants to prepare an underwater scenery.

I helped him prepare a few sea creatures including a fish, a crab, a squid and a clam. Here's what we got. Now, it's for him to make a few more and compose them into a beautiful scenery.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

TOI Goof Up: Once More?

Bollywood's first true superstar, Rajesh Khanna passed away last afternoon. I have always adored his acting, that nod of the head, that smile...My mom, like most ladies her age, must have been a bigger fan of that icon. 

There have been obituaries about him all over the internet and I expected a good leisurely read about Khanna and his career in the newspaper.  

And no, I still haven't changed my daily newspaper. I still read the Times of India every single day like I did when I was in college. It's a die-hard habit now, I guess. But why is the TOI deteriorating in standards? Here's a news about Amitabh paying tribute to Rajesh Khanna. 

The caption under the picture says, "Amitabh outside Aashirwad on Wednesday". Right...yesterday was Wednesday! So where's the goof-up, you ask? 

It's right in your face...in the first line. It says, "Amitabh Bachchan, Rajesh Khanna’s co-star in Anand visited the late actor’s residence Aashirwad on Friday to pay his tribute. " Friday??? It's Thursday today. And it was Wednesday yesterday...not Friday. 

The goof ups do not end at that. Here's one more. 

The last sentence reads "Shah Rukh Khan, Salman Khan and Aamir Khan also played respect to Bollywood’s first superstar." 'Played respect' or 'payed respect'...Okay, that's only a typo, probably! But why? I love the TOI. Shouldn't it be error free? Is it too much to ask for?

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

An Indian Marriage

They say an Indian marriage is not the marriage of two individuals. It is the marriage of two families and their extended families.

Ours is a typical Indian marriage. Sixteen years ago, on this day,when I married into the new family, I had no expectations...only apprehensions. But today, I am more a member of this family than the family I was born into.

For twenty odd years, I was brought up in a family where I lived the carefree life of a little child. I was the typical tomboy. No, I did not dress up in shorts and trousers most of the time. Neither did I sport a crop of short hair. I have always had my hair tied up in a pony or two pig tails or a braid. But I do not remember putting on fanciful clips and hairbands. I always thought 'only barbie doll sported pink'. And no, I never had a Barbie. I always believed kite flying was more interesting than playing with dolls.

I used to hang out with the boys more often than with the girls. As a little girl, I learnt to cycle much before the boys of my age in the neighborhood. Even before my brother learnt how to ride a scooter, I was known to zip through the narrow lanes of Cuttack on the Kinetic Honda. I fell out of favor with people who tried to clip my wings.

But when the time of marriage approached I was a different person. It was an arranged marriage. I did go and get a special photograph clicked for the marriage proposals. No, no... not one where I was all decked up. It was like any other photograph of mine. I was in the same dress that I had worn to the hospital that day. No makeup...no special hairdo. But the photographer at the photo studio did insist that I pose differently for the 'photo shoot'.

I had agreed to get married wherever my parents wanted me to. But I had put one single precondition... that I will get married to the first person who comes to see me. Dad had his own precondition. That I will not fool around and that I must dress up when somebody comes home to see me. "Dress up?" What did that mean? I had no idea. "Okay, do as you wish but please be in a sari," said Dad. So, I agreed to be in a sari. When M's family (read 'extended family'... in India, 'family' always means the 'extended family' unless specified)came to see me, I was in a sari, as promised to Dad. No gorgeous silk sari or beautifully flowing georgette sari. I was in a yellow cotton sari that my Mom had worn at home the previous day. It wasn't even washed, starched and pressed that day. No special hairdo or makeup.

I don't remember if M even cared to look at me. His aunt and uncle did most of the talking, asking me more about the two girls in my class who they knew rather than about myself. No, M and I did not speak or exchange glances. Both seemed equally disinterested in what the families were 'plotting'.

Dad said our family would wait for their family's decision first. Within the next couple of days, M's uncle informed my dad that they were agreeable to the alliance if my family would agree to a quick engagement in November and a wedding in May the next year. I agreed. According to my own precondition, I had said I would marry the first person coming to see me. I wanted no further information about the person. Wonder what would have happened to my 'precondition' if M and his family had shown no interest! :)

Anyway, we got married.

This picture  of an Indian wedding is from Megha Chhatbar's sketchbook. If you like her artwork, leave her a message.

I might not have been a coy bride. After the bidaai (the ritual goodbye accompanied by crying and wailing), I was put into the rear seat of a car that was decorated with flowers and sent off to create a new world of my own. Cuttack to Bhubaneswar is only a few minutes' drive. However, I was too tired after the day's activities; so, I took a quick nap. My husband had to wake me up when we reached Bhubaneswar.

It was a new world altogether. I became the typical Indian bahu after I entered the house. Life changed. Life's priorities changed. Nobody called me Natz anymore. They called me 'Bahu Ma' instead. The short-tempered, loud mouthed Natz was now the well-behaved, cultured and obedient bahu ma. I mellowed down. I wouldn't say I hated that change. In a way, I enjoyed the slow transformation.

Lots of things have changed over the years. But I simply love the new me - the patient wife, the obedient daughter-in-law, the caring mother. Marriage transforms a person and I am happy about who I am today. I also love my past all the more. That was a different me and this is a different me. But I love both the phases of life. Basically, I love life and I am kind of obsessed with myself.

Happy Anniversary to me! Happy life to me!

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Crochet Purse Completed

I rarely complete a major stitching or knitting project. I love starting a new project. But I soon lose interest and jump over to a new project. I am glad I completed this project.

If you have been following my blog, you probably read about the crochet bolero I had started. I haven't started working on the sixth doily yet. Did you read about the day I made those bookmarks? Well, I started a small crochet purse that day. Guess what? I completed it a couple of days back. Here it is. It is made from pieces of left over yarn.

It didn't turn out to be as nice as I would have loved it to but I am glad it is one completed project of mine. Not like the pink silk saree. Which saree? Do not even ask... It has become the joke of the family now. I started embroidering a saree way back in the 90s, it is almost done...but that's it. It is only 'almost done'. One of my incomplete projects...probably the longest one.

Trash Craft: Tea Coasters from Magazine Strips

Okay, here are the long promised pictures...the tea coasters from magazine strips.

Months back when Sony and I were looking for innovative ideas for trash crafts, we came across the idea of using gum wrappers to make long chains by linking them. We tried it out and made a picture frame by the same technique of linking folded pieces of gum wrapper. We used folded polythene strips instead. Here is the post of the picture frame made from strips cut out from a polythene carry bag.

After that we used strips from a magazine to make tea coasters by weaving the strips together like a mat. I had promised to share the pictures. I found the pictures from my phone recently. Here they are.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Today's Crochet Expedition

Hooked to the crochet hook!

I did not work on the pink crochet bolero today and yet it was a very satisfying day. I worked on many other projects. Small, quick ones. Felt really nice.

Here's a fairy crochet bookmark I made for my daughter today.

Last night also I had made a couple of other bookmarks. They were from white cotton crochet thread and not from synthetic wool like this one. Here are the white bookmarks. One is a fairy.

The other is an alphabet bookmark with the letter 'U' in the middle. This is for my daughter's friend, Ujeshna. It's her birthday today. Hope she likes it. 

Okay, coming to today's works... I first made a few flower doilies.

Then I decided I wanted to make more bookmarks. Here's a bookmark I made from a light blue colored flower doily.

I have had enough of bookmarks. So I set about to make a colorful purse instead. This is isn't completed yet but I felt like sharing the picture. Hope you like them.

Hope to complete it soon.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Pink Crochet Bolero for My Daughter

No idea when I shall finish this project. But yes, this is my newest project - a crochet bolero for my daughter.

Crocheting runs in the family. I learnt the basics of crocheting from my grandmother but never really made anything worth boasting about... maybe just a few laces here and there which I often gave out as gifts. 

I got married into a house where everything was covered with a beautiful crochet lace. The sofa, the center table, the TV, the music system, the dressing table, the filter and even the gas stove in the kitchen... My mother-in-law was always crocheting in her 'free time'. She even had the patience to crochet a beautiful bedspread for my first wedding anniversary. I got back into crocheting again. Started making laces again though they never turned out to be as nice and beautiful as my mom-in-law's laces. She made dresses for my daughter...lacy skirts and tops and jackets and hairbands and what not. 

My mother also got back into crocheting. She makes woolen crochet frocks and tops and jackets for Sony almost every single year. I also made some woolen caps and scarves for the kids. I wanted to get back to making lacy crochet stuff out of cotton yarn. This interest rekindled because recently I have been teaching my help, Pooja, several different designs for the crochet laces she has been making to cover pooja thhalis

After some search on the Internet for an easy crochet design for a bolero, I chose this one. It required me to make 10 crochet doilies first and then sew them together. 

Sony loves pink. So I chose pink cotton yarn. I have made 5 doilies so far. Here is one of the doilies I made. Hope you like it. 

Looks like the bolero will turn out nice. Fingers crossed!

If you like this design, or are looking for more crochet patterns with free instructions online, check out this blog. I found some really beautiful designs there. 

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

January - Births and Deaths

January almost about to end. And it reminds me of the joys and sorrows that January brought my way.

Oh yeah, I was born in January. Of course I am still an Aquarian (by the 12 Zodiac signs). Add Ophiucus, the 13th sign and I am a Capricorn. Not that I do not like Capricorn people. But I love being me. Love being an Aquarian... a li'l eccentric maybe but very very very friendly. Friends are my world. I know, once I start talking of friends I may not be talking of anything else. Let's come back to our topic...January.

I was talking of how January affects my life.

Richa, my friend from college was born on 1st of January. My daughter's friend Vidhi was also born on 1st Jan.

1st of January was Tukun Baba (my paternal uncle)'s birthday as well. Baba and I spent many hours together discussing his scientific experiments. Why, he would even discuss medical knowledge with me! He was an Engineer but that never stopped him from reading a lot about medicine as well. During my childhood, every New Year's Eve, we would sit down together in the living room and watch television till late in the night. And at the stroke of midnight, everybody would start wishing each other Happy New Year. Loved to see Baba's happiness when we wished him 'Happy Birthday' or 'Many Happy Returns of Day'. No cakes, no gifts...a simple handmade card was all it took to make him happy. Smoking killed Baba. He died of gangrene due to thromboangitis obliterans. Miss you Baba.

No more 'Many Happy Returns of the Day' on January 1st for the family. Not just because you are no more, Baba. Maa is no more too. Maa, my grandmother died on the 1st of January on her second son's birthday. She was my favorite person in the family. Love you Maa. Miss you lots.

This month is also the birth month of  many friends and relatives: Sony's cousin, Moonoo's cousin, my bhabhi, a close friend from Stewart, one from Ravenshaw and another from SCB Medical College. So many birthdays!

Now, Aja (my maternal grandpa)'s death this year has added another dark day to the month of January. Today is his eleventh day when we send out a prayer for his soul to rest in peace. Aja, was a centurian. He was 100 years old and had seen the India we only read about in our history books. He lived all his life like a true Gandhian.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Turning Forty

So now I am in the 'Golden Decade' as a friend puts it! Forty years...what's changed in life? A lot, maybe. Or maybe nothing at all.

I have more friends than I had in my twenties. And a lot more acquaintances. In spite of all the dislike for cooking, over the years I have learnt to make good chicken kalimirch and 'wow' peanut butter chocolates...though that's only a recent addition.

All said and done, looking back I realize I have 'grown older' too. I seem to be watching more nonsense on TV than I ever did. I seem to be playing mindless brick breaking games on Facebook and commenting on pictures even when I don't have much to say.

And physically too, age is catching up with me. I think, not once or twice but many times, before deciding to climb the flights to stairs to the fourth floor. I prefer to make a telephone call to a friend in the next block rather than simply walk down to her place.

Wondering ... am I into the fab forties of life or the fat forties of life? :)