Wedding Vows …. Woes?
Ever wonder why people look so dazed on their weddings? Picture this scenario ….. There is this perfectly intelligent PYT called for the sake of this blog entry Ms Y. She is wonderful, witty, charming and intelligent. Then there is this gorgeous hunk, who for the sake of this blog entry is named S, he is successful, responsible, charming etc. They are educated, can string words together to mean something, have lived on earth for twenty years minimum, so have gathered life skills. Now we transplant both of them into the mad mad world of Indian weddings today.
First we have a roka, where all sundry relatives from both sides arrive, vet the couple and their parents. Mother in laws are closely scrutinized by the old biddies, the cars by all the elderly men, unmarried girls by all the young and not so young male populace. Food eaten, the mandatory pooja and exchange of gifts done and every one goes away. Phone lines burn as gossip is exchanged about who wore what and how dangerous poor Y’s Mother In Law looked.
One can just imagine Y saying through gritted teeth “It’s about me, not S’s mother dammit. It’s my f—-ing wedding!!!!! And Page 1, Chapter 1 of Saas Bahu soap is written right there and then.
S’s brothers and friends tell S after a whole lot of booze ….. Dude your gal’s cousin …. You know the one in the green dress …… . Man she’s hot!!!! One can imagine S thinking, “Shit, I got the wrong chick” 
All this – and it’s just the roka!!!! Then comes the engagement, and all the pomp and grandeur. By this time shopping has started in real earnest for the trousseau and the wretched DOWRY issue has also popped out of the closet. The in-laws of both sides have been branded as stingy penny pinching so and so’s. Prophets of doom have pronounced the wedding as a disaster. Y has wept on more than one occaision and S has started looking like a man who has lost the entire war at the very outset. The ring has cost him more than he expected, the circus of the wedding is getting to him. All he wants is the wedding to get over and done with and he can carry his bride into the bedroom. Oh yes, he also ogles unobtrusively at Y’s hot cousin.
Then comes the wedding. It has always amused me that the entire ritual is in Sanskrit. a language neither the bride nor the groom understand. Two perfectly intelligent people reduced to bumbling idiots. The priest spouts some strange mantra in an ancient language and then instructs them to sit or stand or feed the fire or each other. Both of them look at him blankly and obey. No comprehension is expected and none is forthcoming. Kind of weird isn’t it. Even a microwave comes with a manual written in most of the languages of the world, and it is not something that is expected to last for a life time. Marriages still are expected to last. That is if S is not caught making out with hot cousin of Y.
The plus point is that after ten years of marriage, a lot of bored hours can be spent discussing what the mantras meant.
S: Babe, the 3rd mantra right after the pandit made me place my hand on your shoulder specifically said that you must obey and cater to my every whim.
Y: I don’t believe that – but the 5th mantra said that you should keep me happy. Panditji translated it twice. The only way you can do that is by getting me diamond solitaires. You don’t want to upset the Gods do you?
And so it goes on ………………………
My Gym Adventure
I really don’t know when to shut up. I suffer from the classic foot-in-mouthitis. Kid#1 (keeper/minder/alpha-male/person who thinks he runs the house) was here from Flight school for a couple of months, and I confided in him that I was in awe of J, my female friend, who is also over weight but can squat in perfect yoga stance. I consider it a big achievement if I can fold my feet into a 45 degree angle after a full days work. The upshot of this was that I got talked into enrolling into a local gym for a week trial. It was the dumbest thing I did. I hurt all over. No amount of 6 pack abs and muscled hunks to ogle will make the pain go away. Even my eyelids hurt by now.
Day 1
They suggest I keep this “exercise diary” to chart my progress this week. Started the morning at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get up, but I look forward to having thighs like my DIL. Besides the instructor is a hunk with 6 pack abs and biceps that look like something out of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. Nice. I’LL BE BACK!!!! He showed me machines and put me on a treadmill, which I did for 15 minutes and burnt an impressive amount of calories. The aerobics class was cool, enjoyed watching it. He made me do crunches and I actually could do four and a half of them. This is going to be great. Just maybe I’ll get shapely legs and slim thighs and a butt that looks half-way respectable.
Day 2
Took the whole family to get me out of the door, (groan) but I made it. The instructor (I know his name now 
) made me lie on my back and push this heavy iron bar up into the air. Then he put weights on it, for heaven’s sake! Legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made it the full mile. Muscles feel great.
Day 3
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the tooth brush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. Driving was okay as long as I didn’t try to steer. I nearly jammed into a Scorpio, but I slammed the brakes (my thigh muscles screamed in agony) Puffed and groaned at the darn gym. Could not even face the treadmill, so Herr Hitler put me on the stepper. Why would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by the invention of elevators? They say that regular exercise will make me live longer. Such a horrendous thought.
Day 4
Half an hour late for the gym. The instructor gave me dirty looks. Dude chill okay, I could not even bend to tie my shoes. He tells me ladies my age can do more, if they wish. Those f%$#@ing bi@#es give me a complex anyway. They should be the vamps on saas bahu soaps, they wear make up and bindis to gyms, for godsake!!! Herr Hitler wanted me to do dumbbells. Not a chance unless he wants me to dent the floor. He was still optimistic and put me on the rowing machine. It sank.
Day 5
I hate Herr Hitler. I hate my muscles. I hate the gym. If there was any part of my body not in extreme pain I would hit him with it. He wanted me to do crunches. I have news for you, brother, I don’t have abs. I have jelly and it quivers at the sight of you and the instruments of torture. And if you don’t want dents in the floor don’t hand me any barbells. I refuse to accept responsibility for the damage, you went to sadist school, you are to blame. I could weep, but even my eyelids hurt.
Day 6
Got the receptionist of the gym ringing on my cellphone. Its too heavy, I wont pick it up and answer. I wont even get up but keep staring at the ceiling and sweating through the power cuts. Takes too much effort to even switch on the TV or listen to music.
Day 7
The last day, thank heavens. I would rather walk the dogs, its free and easy. Gyms should be renamed as interrogation/torture cells of Nazi POW camps.
J I love you very much and the parallels in our life are uncanny. Both of us are Litt grads, have two sons and a long distance relationship with our husbands. But there the similarity ends. Sister, I would love to party with you, weep and laugh with you. But you win hands down on the gym thingie. I will never envy your ability to sit cross legged on the floor again.
Boys and Bugs
It would take me a long long while to list the myriad reasons for being grateful (truly) for having boys turned men in the house. But the main thing is the bugs!!!! They are the in-house bug exterminators. Delhi-NCR has many cockroaches, mosquitoes, flies, crickets and what nots. Having two dogs means that the door is always open – wish they could be trained to shut the door after they came in. But it does offer opportunities for the boys to be amused all the time. Yeah, there is just something hilarious about hearing a grown woman shriek like a two-year-old at the sight of a bug. I kid you not, I am a lapsed Jain …. That means I can’t kill the darn things even though I might officiate in the proceedings. My D.I.L. aka daughter in law will not even do that – and she is no Jain lapsed or otherwise!!!!!
The scenario is something like this :
1. I scream like as though I was being assaulted by an E.T.
2. Sons hear me over their TVs blaring the latest metal or rock assault on ear drums and try to evaluate the level of danger (based on the pitch and the level of commitment behind the scream) and decide that Mom has had the coronary that she has been promising all these years.
3. They run to investigate.
4. They find me looking at the darn bug in anger, I raise my eyes and say like a bloodthirsty warrior squaw “Kill it, kill the darn thing”
5. The D.I.L. flees at this point.
6. The boys laugh at me. Oh and then they squish the darn thing with my slipper, while I try desperately not to puke.
7. I squeal in protest.
8. They laugh again at the sight of a grown woman who can scare the entire world with the force of her bullying tactics reduced to a bimbette at the sight of a tiny bug.
I mean, I am not scared of bugs. They would be fine by me, if I could show them the door and they would scoot into the big whole world outside. I don’t like killing them (its messy and disgusting) and they don’t understand spoken language or sign language. So I just settle for screaming in the vain hope that I could startle them to death.
I dont wanna go to school
Me: Mom, I feel sick.
Her: (feeling my forehead) you don’t feel warm.
Me: Cough! Cough! Hack!!!!!! But, I’m sick! My Tummy Hurts!
Her : You don’t cough when your tummy hurts. Get dressed, you’re late
Okay agreed that was lame, it was actually lamer than lame!!!! Besides my mother was The Big Army Chief, and us mere underlings were the poor soldiers 
Jawaan, seedhe khade ho ATEEEENSHUN!!!
Ab basta pakadkar quick march karenge, left right left
And off to school we went. But I was persistent and tried again and again. I heard somewhere that putting a raw onion under your armpit works in raising your temperature. So I tried that. Verdict : Middling success. Make up works sometimes, u know kaajal under the eyes with foundation on the face. Warning!!!! Don’t rob mother’s pancake too often – you will get busted. Strategy can work, apply to Dad. Moms of this world cant be fooled easily. KETCHUP WITH HAMMING THAT YOU ARE DYING JUST DOES NOT WORK, NOT EVEN WITH DAD!!!!
My mother was simply not fooled easily. Unless you had over 101 temperature, 16 chicken pox on the body, a fracture or green snot oozing out of your nose, it did not work. My kids had it easy. When they came whining, trying their darnedest to look cute and sick at the same time, I’d look them in the eye and say “Negative marking for over-acting. Make me suffer more of that and it will come off your pocket money”, check if they had some test or something important at school and if not, they could stay home. Anyhow I was never obsessed with having over achievers.
I hate what schools are becoming now-a-days. “That place” has literally become a disturbing mediocre piece of crap that teaches to the tests and worries more about teaching our kids how to make friends and why it isn’t ok to be a bully. They rifle through the kids snacks to make sure they are healthy before they allow them to eat it, they even try to make us sign contracts every year promising to restrict tv viewing in our home to 1/2 hour a day, among other things. I always refused to sign, much to my boys’ embarrassment. Damn them for telling me how to raise my kids. They preach about why its not okay to bully and mug up, and then bully us and the kids to mug up.
Sibling Rivalry
Aaaah, it really brings back memories. My brother, a year younger to me, would blackmail me into doing his home work and then bash the shit out of me for coming first in class. I was no sissy either. Being female, there used to be a plot in the revenge I would extract. The funniest thing I ever did to him was waiting for the rain to cover this enormous pot hole (which he didn’t know about of course). One day my dream came true before the road repair dudes found it. Then I dared him to ride his bike as fast as he could through the puddle. He looked at me in distrust (I really don’t know why! ). So I called him a sissy and that did the trick. He hit that puddle full force, then found the pothole….his cycle stopped and he kept going with his arms splayed out!!! It was comical. I laughed so hard. He ran home before I could intercept him, and snitched. Got a good old fashioned butt whippin for that one!!!!! Ooooh the memories
Honestly he was such a sneaky pesky brat. He once found me in a not so nice situation (which he wouldn’t have if he weren’t snooping on me) and threatened to tell our parents. I totally lost it and the fight started in the back lawn ….. continued into the house and spilled into the front yard. The servants and the neighbour hosed us down with a pipe. He was like totally cowed down, covered with scratches, bite marks ….. I had a black eye, a bloody nose, my T Shirt was torn, and I was still bashing the shit out of him in jeans and a bra!!!!! To paraphrase one of my uncles who would routinely refree the fights we cousins had with each other —- he must’ve been a Conan and Ben Hur fan
“Attack the opponent, crush the enemy, kill them, make them flee, and hear the lamentations of their women A A A A K R A M A NNNNNNN!”
Sibling Rivalry ……… I spaced my own two sons – there is an 8 year gap between the two of them. I thought it would make the going easier. But it does kick in early. I really don’t know who has the advantage on whom. Kid #1 is fitter and stronger physically but simpler – Kid # 2 is larger, sly, and a snitch. So I guess it is evenly matched. Who needs TV when you have live entertainment like that to enjoy?
Kids now a days watch a whole lot of wrestling, know things like choke holds, arm locks and such like stuff, but good old fashioned dangal is beyond them after a certain point. I never had to rush them to the emergency ward. My two brats broke the bed, covered it up with the mattress, and “forgot” all about it. When I sat on it with my cup of tea in the evening after work, I sank into it and scalded myself with the tea. I yelped in pain and the Ba@#$!ds ran in, looked at me and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Of course now they are adults and content themselves by passing sarcastic comments on each other, or walling themselves up in stony silence. What do you know, soon they will end up respecting each other and actually calling each other Bhai Sahib instead of unprintable names.
A lovely picture I came across on the net
It is so true but it is not so true either
Things to do before I die
I am putting a list of things to do before I go out of this world, just so that it is a commitment to me 
- First and foremost : get debt free and get some sort of a nest egg – this is v v important, since I do not want to leave a trail of IOUs for my kids to settle.
- Become a Silva graduate. I practise the method, but have no formal training in it. I just do it as I can understand it.
- Learn the art of glass blowing – I am serious. I find it fascinating and would love to learn how to make those pretty things.
- Live a year in some random country. It would be fun to do so. Mexico is one place I would love to go and live in.
- Sky dive at least once. People who know me will laugh at this one since I suffer from vertigo. But life is all about conquering your circumstances and fears, is it not?
- Fly in a hot air balloon (once in my lifetime) Ha ha
- Write a best seller that publishers would beg me to give them the chance to publish, lol
- Buy a piece of land in the mountains where I would live in the Delhi summers
- Learn Japanese (they have the most awesome anime!!!)
- See Madame Tussaud’s
Women and Compliments
What’s with us women? Why do we constantly need morale boosting, I wonder. Whether its a little girl of 7 years, a confident career woman at 30, or a mature woman at 50, we can never hear enough “I am proud of you” “You look beautiful in that” “Thank you for supporting me” “Thank you for taking care of me” “You are doing a great job”.
I was at a cousin’s house the other day. She has two children, a girl aged 10 and a boy about 4 years old. The girl was busy drawing something. During the course of the visit, she brought her drawing book to be admired. We praised her efforts. The little boy looked at her work and like all brothers laughed and rubbished her efforts. The poor thing had tears in her eyes, her world totally shattered. Angrily she said, “My drawing is good” which was replied with “No it isnt” It all degenerated into the classic “Yes it is” and “No it isnt” slanging match. Her father came in, was called to arbitrate, and said sweetly “Of course my love, your drawing is beautiful”. The smile on her face was ecstatic. Her father, the main man in her tiny life, had praised her efforts. She was in heaven!!!
My daughter in law will put on a dress and then spin and dance in the living room. While she is spinning she says “Look at me, isn’t my dress beautiful!” She is the classic independent, confident, grown up woman but there is a little girl deep down spinning around saying “Look at me, tell me I am beautiful”.
The men in our lives should know that they need to affirm and reassure their wives and daughters. If they don’t build their women up and make them feel safe, someone or something else will fill that hole. We dont want TV or a magazine telling us what is beautiful or trying to fill that hole. The longer we wait for the man in our lives to start telling us that we are precious to them, the longer it takes for us to be fulfilled. It is really our souls that have been poisoned with insecurity – for all our lives. Doubt and worry are our constant companions, “Am I good looking enough?”, “Do I look fat?”, “Am I a good cook/home-maker?” “Am I failing at work?” “Am I good mother?” “Am I a good wife?”
Hey men, whatever might be the response you get to your compliments, please please keep on at it. We need your encouragement to boost our morale.
An idea ….. What if we could live life backwards?
If only we could!!! Just think!! At present life is like this, we get born, we get toilet trained, learn to walk and talk, go to school. We graduate, get a job, work 40 years, retire, collect pension, grow old, go to an old age home, die.
It is becoming increasingly obvious to me that we do this all wrong. I think the life cycle should be all backwards.
I would like to die first, you know, start out dead, get it out of the way. Then wake up in an old age home, feeling better every day. Soon I guess I would be discharged, kicked out, whatever, for being too healthy. I would go collect my pension. Then I would go to work ………. and get a gold watch on the very first day of work. Awesome!!!!
I would then work for 40 years, till I was young enough to enjoy my retirement. Then I would rock – you know paint the town red, party every day ( I mean what’s the big deal, I have only a few years left to live right ?????)
Then I would get sent to High School.
Then I’d go to primary school, a kid, play with toys, pull the pet’s tail, build plasticine figures etc etc. Then comes the best part, become a foetus and spend my last 9 months floating peacefully with luxuries like central heating, spa, room service on tap, larger quarters everyday, and then finish off as an orgasm.
If only …………………………………….sigh!!!!!
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