Tag Archives: Punjabi

The Great Indian Joint Family

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Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a smart, attractive professional lady.  Her marriage was arranged to one smart attractive professional gentleman.  Together they built their marriage under the huge umbrella of the Great Indian Joint Family.

The first few years were heaven.  They both worked together, went on vacation all over the world, their home had all the amenities that are deemed necessary in the modern day life style.  Then slowly everything began to change.  The lady had more qualifications than the gentleman.  Her annual income was slightly more than that of her husband.  The modern professional gentleman could not take it any more.  So the torture started.  Small things, publically belittling his wife in company, flirting with other women in full view of his wife, making day to day life difficult for her, tantrums if she was late from work …… all that which finally led to her giving up her job.

She got depressed, stopped reading, stopped looking after herself.  She wandered around in that huge house a shadow of her former self.  Other members of the family noticed the change but wondered if they should interfere or not.

This state of affairs would have continued for ever …… the lady sacrificing herself for the sanctity of her marriage, the man a victim of his own ego.  But another lady stepped in.  The Saas.

Her mother in law was not highly qualified, had barely studied upto Class VIII.  She enquired into the reasons for this change in her Bahu.  She even got lawyers home.  She bullied her son to take an appointment with a marriage counsellor.  Threatened to get a divorce for her daughter in law.  It was an uphill task that lasted three stormy years.

It all ended today.

The Bahu has joined World Bank at a very senior position.

Her husband has not made any objections.

The mother in law is quietly triumphant.

She said in her unassuming practical way “Anyaya vekhan vaala anyaya karan vale to vadda paap karda hai”

(The witness of oppression is a greater sinner than the oppressor)

Thank you Madam – you have added to my unshakeable belief in the power of a mother

Nee kee haal chaal hai tera?

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Telephone Calls one wishes one never recieved …………………..

 

She : Nee kee haal chaal hai tera?

Me : I am okay Aunty

She : I heard you had an operation?

Me : Yes Aunty, but Rabbji has been kind to me.  I am recovering now.

She : Your poor parents would have been so worried.  Ek taan akeli, uton koi vadda vi nahin sir teh ……..

Me : (WTF????, my parents arent here to get worried, good for them……..)  Aunty my sons are there and they are looking after me.

She : A daughter would have done lots of sewa. Deep theatrical sigh  Daughter in laws are after all ….. you know how it is …………………. Nuh raani ton changi sewa karvana

Editor’s note : I seem to remember that this woman congratulated me for birthing two sons, and implied that if I had a daughter I would never have broken ties with ex.

Me : ?????????????

She : Give DIL the phone.  I will advise her on how to look after you properly

Me : Aunty, she is gone to work

She : How could you allow her to do that?  You mean you are alone at home? Who is looking after you?

Me : Aunty, I was advised bed-rest, not her.  Besides Kid#1 is at home today, and so is the live-in servant.

She : Deep theatrical sigh : Kee zamaana aa gaya hai.  I also went through this surgery, and both my daughter in laws were told to stay at home and look after me – for three whole months.  I tell you, your son is a total joru ka gulam.  Put your foot down immediately.

Yeah, yeah, I remember the endless bitching those poor women did, and the fights and sarcastic comments.

Me : Extra sweetly: Aunty, I have been advised bed-rest.  I cant put my foot down any where

She : There is no one to drive me to your place beta, other wise I would have come and stayed with you for some time and nursed you, Rabbji di saun

Me : I hope I hid my relief :  That is so sweet of you Aunty, but like you said, Kee zamaana aa gaya hai … sewa karwan waali kismat hi kithey meri …… sigh …………     ;)

She : I will ask (her DIL#3) to bring me to your place on Sunday

Me : Hastily : I will be back in the hospital for some tests on Saturday and Sunday

Note to self : Ring up her DILs – all of them and ask them to keep her home

Phew!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Some women!!!!!!

A feel good, romantic myth

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My father was a very indulgent husband and a cool parent.  He married my mother when she was barely sixteen and was often known to remark that he brought up three kids.  He always added Jee to her name and addressed her as Tussi or Aap.  Karva Chauth was big in our home.  Two weeks to D-day he took Mom shopping and bought her new clothes, a day earlier, matching bangles and trinkets etc were purchased.  He would wake up early and have sargi (breakfast before sunrise) with Mom.  On that day, we were told to curb our energies and tip toe around because Mom was fasting.  He would come back early from office and depute us on roofs and trees to keep a watch and holler when moon was sighted so that Mom could break her fast.  Sigh!  It was sooooo romantic.

Naturally I also kept the Karva Chauth.  And naturally it did not go too well for me.  I just dont have that kind of luck you see.  During my harmonious freakingly stormy wedded life, there were wars, and there were short intervals of I’m too tired to fight uneasy breathers.  We had a biggggg fight on one Karva Chauth when ex said something majorly caustic and rushed out to work.  He is King of Sarcasm.  I totally lost it.  In retrospect, I think it was because I could not top that one as he had left.  It was so frustrating, you know.  I could think of a dozen things to say which could top his lines, but he had effin left!!!  I did not want to keep the fast for him.  In fact I felt majorly martyrd by the entire concept of being hungry and thirsty for the entire day.  I had cooked a sumptious feast for the sargi which was still lying on the dining table.  So I sat down and ate.  I was not hungry (I had already eaten sargi)  but I ate the paranthas, the sewian, the gulab jamuns even though I felt sick.  Yes I am a spiteful cat if you rub me the wrong way. 

Stop pretending to be shocked, its all a myth okay.  Nothing bad happened to him.  He is still alive and healthy, and being tiresome.  It takes more than a couple of aloo paranthas eaten by an angry wife on Karva Chauth to kill a person.

Stop laughing!!!

DIL asked me the first year of her marriage about what to do for Karva Chauth and I told her “Beta keep it for one year, after that, if you dont want to, dont.  Doll up, apply mehendi, pamper yourself.  The fast is optional” and I told her this tale of mine.  She found it insane and repeated the damn thing to her mother and sister.  I know I know, I shouldnt have told her!   Her mother told me, “Both you and my daughter have the same nature”.  Ah well, I have decided to take that as a compliment.

She looked lovely all decked up last year (It was her first Karva Chauth) and has just informed me that she wants to keep it again this year. Awwwwww, sooo romantic.  I am so happy that she is keeping it for her own sentiments and out of her own free will.  Of course I am also so happy that I dont have to keep it.

Edited to add: Both the lovebirds are keeping the fast – for each other.  I am so impressed!

Of Embroidery and MA

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Once in a while I miss my childhood …… essentially that presupposes that I have grown up. Well, once in a while I guess I have. What I have got nostalgic for is the afternoon sessions when I was finishing my home work on the living room floor, under the eagle eye of my mother, who would be knitting endlessly. The various Punjabi auntyjees would drop in for a casual round of gup-shup. All of them would be fully loaded with needlework, knitting, mending. They would settle down for chai, samosas, bread pakoras and gossip. I guess I miss those auntyjees – loud, boisterous and interfering. I really must get my head examined :) evil grin. They were overweight, dressed in colourful salwar suits and had the most wonderful laughs …… you have to hear a punjaban laugh to understand what I mean – the laugh starts somewhere in the paunch … oops sorry … belly and works its way up to the throat – loud, full throated and earthy. No one who hears it can remain straight faced.

After a suitable interval in which tea would served and the various embroideries and knittings admired, they would settle down to the real agenda of the meeting i.e. gossip. Everything under the sun was discussed. At times when something particularly juicy was to be discussed, my mother would turn to me and say …. Go get a glass of water, or go check what your brother is doing. Of course I would get up and walk out, hang around behind the door and eavesdrop!!! I learnt a lot about life in the small community we lived that way. There certainly was a lot happening ….. and lots of it was juicy.

Then came the ritual I hated the most. My embroidery or art work was brought out to be admired. I hated embroidery with a passion, and I can draw, but only cartoons. But cooking, sewing and crochet were mandatory for girls born in my generation. We had to spend dreary hours crouched over stuff we had to cross-stitch, tapestries we had to make all for our trousseau. It ranked a close second to getting good marks in school. Good Punjabi girls had to know phulkaari, crochet, make good paranthas and get good grades. Phew, no wonder most of us are cranky!!!!!

I escaped this when got into college. My world changed, but my roots definitely did not. When I decided I wanted to do M.A., and told my mother …….. One of the auntyjees looked at me totally confused and asked

Nee kee karna chahndi hai too (What do you want to do?)

Jee M.A. karna hai mainu (I want to do M.A.)

Kyun, roti zyada gol villegi pher (Why, will your roti be rounder then?)

Oh wow!!!! That left me speechless.

Endearments and food

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This is the time of political correctness. Words are supposed to be used with great caution. For a person coming from Punjab the concept is totally alien. Just consider this – Fat is uncool and we have Punjabi endearments like Gur vakkan mithi, and my all time favorite Sohneyo, Makhan de doneyo. One of my uncles was a typical Punjabi and would always call me his rabri malai!!! What calorific love!!! It got me thinking, do all regional languages have such terms? I don’t know. What I do know is that in America in the south terms like sugar, honey bun, sweet cake etc are used, much to the disgust of the rest of America which is bland and politically correct.

I remember squirming when my Uncle called me rabri malai and protesting – Chachu either you’ll give me diabetes or make me a fat auntyji. But a few endearments thrown in express love, and also make this world a pleasanter place. Of course the other form of endearments like Harbhajan’s “Teri Maa Ki” also add colour to the world and become subject for hot discussion in the front pages of leading dailies :) . I am not getting into that here. It has been discussed threadbare in other blogs!!!!

I had gone recently to visit some people who are very propah and upper-crust. Now I am very uncomfortable around the “cultured” sort of people as I am quite the opposite. An hour spent in such rarified atmosphere is a bit too much thank you. Over a cup of tea with a twist of lemon, the lady was complaining about the rustic terms used by the common people. It is not acceptable or politically correct – she said. I wonder ….. is political correctness another word for intolerance? The world is growing smaller … and then there is the internet which connects us to people of various cultures. A few “honeys” and “sweetness” thrown in will definitely make the going smoother and sweeter……. and may be chubbier :)

Run-away Groom

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One of the most interesting weddings I have had the good fortune to attend has been the wedding of a friend’s friend. We were in college when this young dashing army officer was getting married to his childhood sweetheart. My friend had to attend the wedding and needed company. I was more than happy to accompany her. We reached the bridegroom’s place well in time for the baraat to leave. The bridegroom was an avid polo player and was very attached to his polo horse, a mare named Guinea. He insisted that he would ride his beloved Guinea to his bride’s place. The family had given in to this wish of his.

At the appointed hour, Guinea was brought from the stable to the groom’s front gate. She was skittish and would not allow herself to be decorated. With great difficulty, she wore some of the customary decorations. Then the rituals began. The sister in law of the groom came with the plate of chana to feed the horse. She backed away, snorting suspiciously. The sisters of the groom were too intimidated and refused to tie the decorative strings to her bridle. The groom took all this in good humour and climbed the mare, whispering soothingly into her ear. Then disaster struck. The band wallahs struck the noisy orchestra that accompanies every baraat. This was too much for poor Guinea. She took off in panic at a break neck speed with the groom astride her …. to the total astonishment of the baraatis.

After an hour the groom returned galloping at full speed to the house. His turban and sehra were a mess. The sisters jumped up in joy, and started teasing him and asked “Where did you go? We thought you had panicked and run away”

Even though he was sweaty and short of breath, his good humour was totally intact. He replied with an absolutely straight face “Oh Guinea got jealous and wanted to elope with me. I had to pacify her. So I rode her around the India Gate roundabout 7 times. Now she knows she is my Biwi No. 1”

Needless to say, the baraat had to go to the bride’s place without a horse. The bridegroom rode in a car!!!

Mating Season

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This happened a few years ago. I had been interacting with some foreign buyers at work. It was around Diwali and they found India intimidating. The roads were impassable, the sheer numbers of people shopping and driving fascinated them and scared them. We wear (as per them) the most amazing colours. One of them could not get over my electric blue jacket. Damn it, I love that jacket!!!! He thought he needed to wear sun glasses even to look at it!

Around November-December many marriages get solemnised. So there are countless number of Baraats which hog a major chunk of the road and the first few times they encountered ghodis with bridegrooms and the band-baaja that accompanied the baraat, they were thrilled and took a lot of pictures. But soon this diversion palled. We were driving one evening when the road was jammed because of a baraat. This guy (I think he fancied himself a wit) turned around and asked me “Does this happen round the year?”. I tried to explain that marriages were solemnised mostly during the winters. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Now I understand. You Indians have a mating season”.

Hmmmmm, I dunno ….. may be we do.

Shaadi Shaadi Shaadi

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It’s been a crazily prolonged winter this year – and along with the chilly winds comes the wedding season.

I think I must have attended about 8 weddings starting from last week December to first week of February, which as most people know means an average of 3 functions per wedding. Phew!!! Unlike my daughter in law who loves to dress up and is excited at the sight of an invite – I normally think of a wedding invitation as a chore. One has to figure out what gift to give, what to wear and worse, what to get my younger son to wear!!! He is such an aborigine, he lounges around in the minimum of clothes and thinks dressing up is such a waste of time.

The normal scene at home is something like this:

Esha comes home from work and spies the invitation and says “Oh goody, its Shaadi time!!! Mom,who is getting married. Where do we go? What do I wear”.

Kartikeya says “Oh my God, another one? Mom can’t we avoid this?”

Both of them start exchanging not so nice remarks about each other and I am left to organize the driver, the trip to the bank to check out the jewellery both of us women have to wear, the shagun etc. etc.

When D-Day comes, Esha is dolled up (and looking gorgeous I must add) well in time. Thanks to her, so am I. Kartikeya at around this time, normally wanders in still in his track suit and looks at us surprised “Dressed already? Oh my God, Bhabhi, what do I wear?” This leads to another friendly exchange of insults, but the up shot is that Kartikeya also gets dressed(quiet decently). Finally the Lalits are all dressed and ready to go for the party.

At the party, Kartikeya always manages to find us a table near the bar. Its an art, I must say. It ensures non stop supply of drinks and snacks. The down side is that we end up saying Hellojee, Namaste jee etc. to every one, even those crashing bores that we wish to avoid.

I have observed a very interesting thing. All men are dressed up warmly – and since Delhi-NCR is so cold this winter, many men are wearing mufflers and caps too. But the ladies, bless their brave souls, are gorgeously dressed in beautiful sarees and jewellery. Not one woman did I see at any of the wedding functions wearing a shawl, sweater or even warm socks. Who says that only men are brave. We women can face the most inclement of weathers with smiling fortitude!!!

Of course it is another matter that when we come home, we quickly get into thermal underwear, wrap ourselves in heavy warm quilts and sit in front of the heaters to thaw.