Conditions Apply, Honey!

A popular talk show on a television channel.
A woman says, “I love my husband unconditionally. No matter what, I will continue to love him.”

And I say, “BAAAAH!”

For marital relationship is the one defined the most by conditions! Right from the altar! Be it love, arranged or love-cum-arranged (really perplexing one!) marriage.

Scout numerous matrimonial sites and you will have your answer:

Seeking tall, fair, handsome, professionally qualified, employed Tamil Iyer boy for our daughter.
Seeking fair, beautiful, homely, God-fearing, well-educated girl from the same caste for our boy (H1B-visa).

Now, how do you term these?!!! You protract the scope of the candidature so much that even if one eligibility criterion goes missing, he or she may not end up sharing your life.

Love marriage does not depart either from established norms. From the 10 some guys you encounter at college or at office, based on your preferences, you will distill and re-distill to 2-3 suitable bachelors. You might not do it openly, consciously, but it still is inevitable. And these feelings sprout and get rooted to the crevices of your sub-conscious mind.

Personally, I endorse both the above approaches. Cos I like being honest with myself. It’s only natural that one chooses a partner who matches upto you in character, appearance, personality and sometimes academic qualifications too.

It’s engrained in human nature to expect and structure a relationship on those expectations, before and in marriage. If these expectations are not met, resentment results. For none can only GIVE love. Likewise, none should only TAKE love. It’s an exchange, always!

Imagine… the woman on the TV show has a husband who is a drunkard and gets entangled in extramarital affairs! Will the woman still shower unconditional love and say with a smile,
“Darling, I still love you!” Now don’t contend with the argument: her unconditional love for him will set him on the right path! That happens in movies, not in real life! Further, it’s not a partner’s duty to correct the other morally astray partner.

And if the woman still defended her retro concept of unconditional love, then one of the possibilities arises:
- she is unquestionably wallowing in self-pity and celebrating her martyrdom in her mentally sick way
- her unconditional love is euphemism for a compromised life and stoicism
- she is bound by socio-economic parameters

Whichever it is, please come to your senses!

For love cannot be unconditional at the cost of trust, mutual understanding and self-respect.
If it does, then it’s no love at all!

However, a marital equation need not remain one-dimensional with perpetually serious attitude towards life. Lighten it up! Live it up! Of course, conditions apply, once again. In all joviality though! :)

You don’t allow me to watch my favorite serial for your sports program.
I hide the remote. :)
You don’t take me out during weekend.
I add two extra spoons of chilli powder to the sambar on Monday. :)
You forget anniversary, birthday.
I don’t let go till I get an extra pair of diamond earrings. :)
You don’t appreciate my cooking lavishly.
I give you thayir sadam + pickle for the following two days. :)
You turn on your laptop to prepare a list similar to the above.
I will invite viruses to your laptop. :)

Yes, yes people…I know, I know…. am unstoppable at this!!! Am louuuuuuvvving eeeet!!! LOL :) Anyway, more creative the mind, wider the options. Rest in your hands! ;-) :)

Now jokes apart, I vehemently reiterate, even at the risk of sounding unpleasant to chauvinists, male and female alike: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Otherwise, it’s Time Out for you! Out from wedlock and straight into desolation.
Please don’t forget, life must be a win-win, for you and your partner.

One last thing to the men in our lives: don’t be surprised if tomorrow you find our daughter or son screaming at me wildly, slamming the door on me… and the next day morning I still talk to her or him like nothing happened!!!

That’s the sanctity of motherhood: the only unconditional love ever possible!
Applies to your mom, my mom and to me as a mother too.

For everything else, Conditions Apply, Honey! :)

Please Stop Talking!

Imagine asking the simplest of questions and getting the longest, convoluted of replies!
It happens to me, ALWAYS! Tragically, I end up being at the receiving end… of muddled monologues. A verbal maze, in which I get lost with none to my rescue. Until I decide to break free from my shackles with abrupt, lame excuses.

Phew! Quite an escape, I reminisce.

Families and friends… none spare me. LOL :)
But then what’s life without these moments of exasperating humor?!
Exasperating to me, humor to you ( hopefully). :)

Read on…


DISCLAIMER

Any resemblance to any person living is purely INTENTIONAL. :)
Despite nightmarish memories, I did not harm any animal or human being during the creation of this article.

Priya’s Guidance: Refrain from continuing with this write-up, if you are on the verge of insanity already.
Warning: Keep out of children’s reach, lest they manifest symptoms of LSS: Long-Speech-Syndrome!


Me (over Skype): Amma, inaiki enna samayal anga?
Ma: Oh, adhuvaaa….naan nethiki car driver freea irundha dhanala kadaiku poi irundhen. Apo, beans, keerai vanginen.
Me: Oh, keerai kootu and beans currya?
Ma: (Annoyed) Konjam solradha kekiria?!!! (I shut up.) Kadaila, naan actress Shaktipriyava pathen! Adhan di Kolangal seriala nadichalae. She waits till I nod. Naan poi pesinen, “neenga Kolangal seriala nalla nadichirdhinga.” Ava romba sandhosha patta. En saree nalla irukunu kooda sonna. In a reflective mood: Indha actress ellam onum avalo azhagu illa. Ellam make-up pota dhan therum. Namma kuda nadikalam, theriyumo. (OMG!!! Was she serious here??!!) Aparom pesitu, counterla billa katitu oru vazhiya veetuku vandhu sendhen.
Vangitu vandhadha ellam fridgela vechaen (Oh, really? I thought they went into the washing machine!) ONE BIG PAUSE here to take a heavy breadth. Hummmmmm. Keeraiya aanji vechitu, beansa cut paninen. Aparom, unga appa vandhu patharu…inaiki idhaan samayalanu ketaru. Naan vera ena venumnu keten. Avar udane, “enaku inaiki tiffin sapadnum pola iruku.” Serinu andha keeeerayaaa eduthu vechitu (dragging), verum dosai pani kuduthen. Ipo dhaan saptu mudichom. Hummmmm. Seri, thotuka enna paninenu kelu. Vengaya chut…
Me: Ayyoo, ala udu… BYE!!!!!!
And I log off!!!!

Duration of the conversation: 10 minutes! Whereas 2 seconds is all it takes to tell what’s for dinner!



Me: Hi R, naan enaiki unga veetuku 5 maniku mela varlama?
R: Actually Priya, nanga rendu nalaiki munnadi oru printer vanginom. Nalla deal offer vandhudhu.
Me: Puzzled, I interrupt…Illa naan enna ketena…
R: Illai kellu nee…andha printera connect panni test panalamnu ninaichom. Aparom V adha set paninaru. Anal paren, first print out kuda seria varala. Edho print error kamchindae irundadhu! Seri konjam neram kazhichi try panuvomnu vitutom. Aparom K kuttyku dinner utitu, naanum avarum saptu mudichom. Time 10 ayduthu adhu kula. Serinu thoonga poitum. Aparom, adhutha naal, avar officeku poitaru. So, thirumba check panna mudiala!
Me: I turn on the loudspeaker and lie down on my bed. She continues unabated!
R: Priya, irukia?
Me: Iruken, iruken…enga odi po poren!!! (In my mind: Illa pogadhan mudiyuma?!)
R: Seri, aparom weekend vandhudhu. Saturday morning tiffin saptutu printera check paninom.
Thirumbavum error kamchidu. Adhukula lunch time vandhudhu. Oru 2 hrs aparom, grocery panitu
vandhu, seriousa ukandhum andha printer kuda. Vellaya seila. Pause….expecting me to say a few sympathetic words.
Me: Ayyo, romba kashtam pa…(was actually referring to my plight!!!)
R: Yeah Priya. Adha apadia thuki thania vachitom. Monday nan andha shopku call panni problem
explain paninen. Two days kula technician varvaru nu sonanga. Pause again…
Me: Vandhara technician?
R: Inaiki dhan avar vararu. So, sorry pa. Inaiki namma meet panna mudiyadhu.
Me: Oh ok. (Faking a disappointment) Seri, no problem, naan inoru nalaiki varen
R: Thanks pa…for understanding.
Me: My pleasure! (Pain would have been a better word!!!) Bye. Aparom panren.

Thereafter, I stopped asking her “Shall I come over today?” I just gate-crash.


Now comes the Masterstroke!

Me: Hello patti, epadi irukinga?
Grandma: Vadi en thangam. Nee epadi ma iruke?
Me: Fine patti. Unga udambu epadi iru…?
Grandma: Hummmmmmmmm. (Just like my mom! Yes, it’s genetic!) Edho iruken (in a resigned tone).
Me: Hoping that she will continue, I get a little closer to her. BIG MISTAKE!
G: Adjusting her specs, she eyes something. Mudiya cut panitia thirumbavum??!!!
Me: Am mute. Curse myself for getting in her ‘view’ point.
G: Kekaranla, vaila enna kozhukatia? Sollu…
Me: Meekly…amam patti. AM DONE NOW. History repeats…
G: Andha kalathula nanga ellam evalo mudi valathom theriyuma?! Not waiting for a reply, indha kalathu ponungalaku romba kozhupu dhan. Bab cutting (that’s how she said it!) paninundu thaya thaka thaya thakanu gudhika vendiyadhu.
She pulls my hair and continues… paaru..sembata parakudhu. Azhaga thala neeraya ennai thadavi, malli poo vechindu pona ena kedu unaku??!!! Nanga padicha kalathula, etenaku indha packet ennai thadavi, azhaga kunjalam vechi katti, kanagambaram poo slide pinala kuthindu povom. Ipo enadana, beooty parlor (please don’t even ask!) poi kasa kuduthu mudia keduthuka vendiyadhu. NONSTOP she can go!
Me: Mustering up courage…Illa patti…schoola…
G: School enna school…nan vandhu pesaren unga headmistress kita.
Me: Ayyoo venam patti….I palpitate.
G: Apo…ozhunga mudi valakara vazhiya paru. Katrichi utunda…adi vanguva. Aprom Schoola ozhunga padikira vazhiya paru. Andha kalathula… she beings a fresh chapter!
Me: Ayyoo…enaku avasarama bathroom ponom!!!!!!!!

I rest my case.

Things I Will Tell My Kid

Am yet to experience motherhood. Nevertheless. The moment I document these, it becomes a dictum…to be followed strictly. I promise to do so.

1) I will never force my thoughts upon you. I will respect your individuality, always.

2) I will not just provide books, bags, uniform and expect you to study. I will provide a peaceful environment (mental and emotional) for you to shine.

3) I will never bore you or send you on a guilt-trip by narrating my struggles as a child.

4) I will never ask you to find out the marks of another kid at school. Nor will I do it myself.

5) If you make a mistake, be the first one to apologize. I will too.

6) Likewise, if the mistake is not yours, never apologize.

7) Don’t glorify or idealize me. I’m not impeccable. Nobody is. Be your own role-model.

8) I will get into your world and share your joys. I will become a kid once again and listen to your stories.

9) Never miss your Moral Science or P.T. classes at school. Don’t touch your books then.

10) Never practice ‘academic’ discrimination at school. Your mom was not a great star at school. :):)

11) I promise to read up on Parenting before I bring you into this world.

12) Try not to judge anyone. Am trying too.

13) I will mature myself enough to let go…when the time comes. I know you came through me, but not for me.

14) I promise to become a better person, before I correct similar shortcomings in you.

What did I do in school??!!

NOTHING and EVERYTHING.

Nothing that my parents or teachers wanted me to do!!! LOL

Everything I thought I should be doing at school!!! LOL, again.


Here it goes…

… morning assembly at Holy Angels’ Convent. Am half-asleep. Five dosas and two cups of sambar for breakfast do make one sluggish, don’t they?! It was such ‘mass consumption’ that accounted for my ‘all-rounded’ personality during school days. :)

The Pledge was on. We repeat after the voice at the mike, Every Single Day. Yaawwnnn.

And that’s when, all of a sudden, a thunderbolt hit me! A bone of contention in the pledge!
The line: “All Indians are my brothers and sisters.”
My mind voice yelled: “How the heck am I going to get married if all Indians are my brothers??!!” Forget the sisters…who wants them anyway?!
I felt dizzy, pukish, fatigued. All symptoms of pregnancy appeared… even before I could solve the conundrum in hand and obtain a gate pass to wedlock.

After 1 hour of brainstorming during the first period (Chemistry, btw), I cracked it.
Add a clause: “All Indians are my brothers and sisters. EXCEPT ONE.”
Hurray, I solved it! A ‘chaste’ solution, I prided myself.

That said, my conscience now pricks me to confess: considering the innumerable times I’ve fallen in love with the Ajith Kumars, Suryas and Karthees so far…well, I could have at least listened to Ms.M. Even if it’s too late, a realization is a realization nevertheless.

Now, let me move onto some real, Nation-threatening, Earth-shattering concerns: Crows and
Black Sorrow! “Hey, she put black sorrow on me paaa…!”, I screamed and chased my friend (can’t recollect whom) around the school trying to ‘put back the sorrow onto her head’. Am sure the only person elated with our frenzied heroine-villi pursuit was our P.T. teacher, Ms.A. I was finally exercising, ain’t I?!

Patt! Thud! My hammer-hand landed on my friend’s oily head. It’s a relay! She then passes on the sorrow to some unsuspecting soul loitering near the bathrooms. For the sake of ignorant readers: Black sorrow is when you spot a single, big, jet-black crow. The intelligentsia at HAC believed it to bring bad luck upon them. Disaster management cells in our brains go hyperactive to restore peace, especially if it’s an exam day.

EXAMS!!! How can I forget them?! Of course, I eternally failed to remember what I learnt.
But, forgetting an exam itself? No, never. An exam day is a period of ephemeral camaraderie.
The P.T. ground transforms into mushroom patches - a cluster here, a cluster there of girls trying desperately to flank the most brilliant students. They sit so close that it almost becomes infringement of private space…literally on the other person’s laps! Phew! Now, if you thought that the girls made such a dash to gain knowledge from the top scorers, then you are undoubtedly mistaken. The hysterical rush is just to find out: “How much did you learn pa?”,
“Finished memorizing the booka pa?”, “Centum right this time also?” Sigh!!!!!!!!!!!!

The most irrelevant of questions when one is hard-pressed for time! Name it jealousy, envy, yearning…etc, etc…it happens, but it still is the best part of school life, I would say. A kaleidoscope of emotions that exams evoked! Fun, frolic and fear…all go hand in hand with exams.

Ok. Now, exams are over. What next? Results! Hmmmm….I am leaving it out in MCQ. Cos certain things are better when left unsaid. So, that brings us to - Excursion!

Two places in Chennai, which HAC had ‘leased’ for annual visits: Planetarium and Crocodile Bank. Look up at the sky or look down at green monsters: Wah, kya choices hai! The situation was similar to crop rotation: first year P, second year CB, third year P and fourth year, CB once again. This story continued till XI grade. No, wait…XII grade. Hold on…think it’s XI. OMG!!! (Amnesia waiting at my doorstep). Anyway, our first overnight, outstation trip was eventually planned. ENSOIMENT, in a word. Says it all. Colorful days, those were!

Speaking of colors, Assunta (yellow), Hermine (Green), Teresalina (Red) and School (blue)…were the four houses/teams at HAC. It nurtured a sense of belonging in us…so much that we ended up in a verbal one-upmanship: which house is the best? Assunta stood for Sun, Hermine for plants, Teresalina for blood and School equated with water. And Ms.V of 8th grade was the judge for this pattimandram (debate). After hearing the arguments, she reserved judgment…till date!

While staying on the chapter- Silliness at School, I would like to chroncile here other idiosyncrasies too. LOC! Not just an issue between Pakistan and India. But between my benchmate and me too. Take a pointed compass. Darrrrrrrrrrrr. One streak right in the middle of the table. Yes, boundaries were defined: “Idhu en area, ulla varadhe.” If, accidentally, a pencil, or an eraser of my friend’s crossed the line, I go hysterical. B.P. shoots up. Palpitations. Swelling face. I stop paying attention to the teacher. My eyes are all set on the infiltration. Angry whispers: “Your pencil is on my side. Move it right now.” Once she obeys, calm descends.

If you just began to admire my sense of discipline, I urge you to stop right away. For none can outdo me at the following: late attendance promptly filled in, sick leave pages constantly run out, shoes perpetually unpolished…and the list goes on!

Guess, I was ‘possessed’ while in school. Why would n’t I be, going by the number of ghost stories that did the rounds then!!! The skeleton in the Physics lab was invariably the hero. Now, don’t ask me why a ‘hero’ and not a ‘heroine’. I really don’t want to get into Anatomy at this moment.
So, switching back to our hero…he was the son of a wealthy businessman and he committed suicide because of Rich-boy, Poor-girl love failure. OMG!!!

Let me pause for a few seconds…

… am back. I just went to bang my head against the wall…for…err…you know better now!

Thanks to these stories, my nights are still shrouded in terror. Inevitably, even now I don’t and can’t sleep alone. No pun intended. :)

Thus, my friends, whatever the memories, be it joy, happiness, sadness, disappointments…
a school is forever our second home. Cherish it and remember: Towards Charity by Truth.

Listen To Me Sing...

… with your ears closed!!!

Resumes my musical abilities. Sigh!


A lazy, sultry, Wednesday afternoon. Ideal for a bowl of potato chips, TV and a siesta after ‘toiling’ day long at school. My mom, a thoroughbred killjoy that she is, dashed my dreams to the floor. “It’s time for paatu class (music class)”, she dictated.

The next moment, life around me turned monochromatic. Gloom descended. Akin to a pachyderm lumbering along, I inched along to my hall of fame, no… ill-fame rather.

Sa, Re, Ga, Ma… both the shruti box and me droned dully. Like Siamese twins. Aghast, my teacher corrected, “Priya, open your mouth and throw your voice”. And so I did. SAA, REE, GAA, MAA… before I could complete the 7th note, she was out of the room! Pretext: her phone rang. At times, obedience begets only insults!

My mom sitting beside me was stunned. YES, she not only escorts me (lest I escape en route) to class but sings along! She was encouragement personified. I’ve always admired her optimism. Persevering to make an M.S. Subbulakshmi or M.L.V. out of ME!!! Sometimes, I wondered if she needed help with hallucinations!

Anyway, I found a silver lining to the cloud. I hoped that the above debacle will surely put an end to my musical (mis) adventures. I was wrong. My instructor was more persistent than my mom. She reassured my mom, “Oh! She’s young, will pick up soon. Don’t worry”. Incidentally, she’s been repeating this for more than two years!

Dejection written all over her face, my mom remained silent while we walked back home. Equally torturous was the scorching heat.

Suddenly, a ping! An idea! Cautiously I murmered, “Ma, walking to and fro to music class is really tiring. No auto driver will make a trip for such a short distance either. So let’s not…”. Hardly had I finished the sentence she exclaimed, “Oh! Yes! It’s the Sun. The heat. That’s what is affecting your singing”. I was glad the trick was working. But before I could continue, she regretted, “I’m sorry da, I made you walk. No wonder you were not able to give your best”. I stopped right there, eagerly awaiting those nectar-soaked words, “Let’s discontinue music class”. And then she concluded, “We will get someone to teach you at home itself”. I almost fainted!

Home-music sessions were no different. Vapid voicing of Vara Veena, Sree Gananatha (devotional Carnatic music) were heard….err…endured rather. And one day, the unthinkable happened!

My little brother, a music lover (before listening to me sing), came to my room. He sat on my bed. In an attempt to impress him, I sat erect, cleared my throat, began an animated vocalisation. A la Bagavathar (pundit), I made heavy hand gestures, oscillated my head vigorously, slapped my thighs energetically… did almost everything…except sing beautifully. That’s it. My teacher could not take it anymore. She retorted, “Priya, stop your pantomime. And just sing”.

Hisssssssssss! A deflated balloon I was. What more a judgmental sibling could ask for: he sneered.

Nevertheless, I carried on with my singing, almost spiritlessly.

30 minutes later. I had just battled the Geethams (a collection of simple Carnatic songs). All of a sudden, we heard a loud snore. Lo and behold! My brother was snoozing, right next to me!!! He was fast asleep, that too in the middle of my singsong. How dare he??!!

That’s when the moment of epiphany arrived.

I SHOULD STOP SINGING. I had not cradled, but bored him to slumber.

Till this day, I’ve not touched my music books.

Fortunately, the traditional practice of asking a woman to sing during a Prospective Partner Meet-up Ceremony (PPMC), is not very prevalent anymore. Otherwise, I would still be a spinster.

As they say, if a door is shut, a window opens. I can’t sing for nuts. Agreed. So, what next?!

It’s ………. MUSICAL KEYBOARD!

Yes, I embarked on a journey to explore the other facets of this enigma called music. Success was no longer elusive.

On that note I would like to wrap up because…

… (off the record), A.R.R. is frantically calling me up to take counsel for his next Oscar trophy.

Bye. Take care.

Stop idealizing, people!

Recently, a ‘Tiger’ lost his way in the ‘Woods’ of sexual quagmire. And this hornet’s nest proved to be challenging to his fans and audience…as much as it was for Tiger Woods!

Disappointed and disillusioned, his admirers saw a hero fall off the pedestal! Sports aficionados were ‘hurt’ by Woods’ extra marital affairs. It was a ‘betrayal’ not just to Elin Nordegren, but to millions of golf enthusiasts across the globe. The breach of trust left his followers shattered!

Who is to blame for this disenchantment? Tiger Woods? Absolutely!
However, there is one more answer to it: his fans themselves!

In today’s world, value systems and moral codes are on the fast lane to degeneration. How far you bank on another person is how far you are prepared to risk your judgment. The more you place confidence, the more fatal your fall could be…when he/she lets you down. Idol, star, beau ideal…are words to be erased off the dictionary of modern characterization.

The unhealthy trend to epitomize another person plagues not only one’s social environment but also one’s personal sphere. A father whom you esteemed, a mother whom you wondered at, a spouse whom you cherished could very well be committing adultery, involved in unbecoming deeds or even be nefarious.

What will you do then? Ventilate publicly, splash it around or simply broadcast it??!! My guess is – a likely NO.

You will begin to internalize the pain caused by such deception. Things will fall apart. Anger at oneself for the misplaced trust can lead to drastic emotional disturbance. Finally, once bitten twice shy, you will be reluctant to pin your hopes on someone else who really could be genuine in character. It turns out to be your loss at the end of the day!

So just stop the adoration that could push you down the path to uncertainty. Believe more in yourself than in others. Maintain a degree of objectivity in your relationships. It’s undoubtedly difficult, but not impossible.

As Lord Buddha preached, suffering has a cause. Let that cause not be yourself.

Ultimately, my words are not to emphasize a dystopian approach, but is just a call to prudence and caution.

Practice Before Preaching? Not Necessary.

Well… my above statement is definitely not an attempt at reinventing the wheel or subverting time-tested adages. It is a mere realisation that dawned upon me during a casual conversation with a friend.

It might not be accepted universally. Personally, it has struck a chord with me.

So what was the repartee that stirred me into penning my thoughts?
Here it goes…

A very good friend of mine and I were discussing how to reap the best out of our everyday lives. A plethora of possibilities emerged! Physical wellness, effective stress management, stabilising relationships, personal time and so on…….

In this wave of thought, my friend suggested several options to explore. Quoting her, “you exercise regularly, practice yoga, eat well, listen to soothing music, take up writing, have lesser expectations, be confident, have more hobbies and try to hold back your temper for 30 seconds before you blurt out”.

She went non-stop. Suddenly she paused….for a sec or so. Resuming her monologue she said in a self-critical tone, “I myself don’t do much of what I told you, but anyway”.

Instantly, a halo of enlightenment around me! :):)
Her momentary digression has now set me on path.

Her words had triggered a question in me and I found the answer to it…almost immediately: you don’t have to necessarily practise before preaching. All that qualifies you to give advice is that you care for me, love me abundantly and are genuinely interested in my welfare.

The person advocating might not be impeccable or hardly adhering to his/her words. Nevertheless, their love for us is undiminished. And what better criterion than pure love to urge someone into action??!!!!! Well, at least I don’t require anything more.

The lacunae (if I may use the term) in their existence does not stop them from wanting good for the others in their lives. This has to be respected. And it is applicable to all relationships, especially parents.

Many a times I have scorned directly and otherwise at my parents for prescribing action plans, especially if it is to do with academics or behaviour. I was convinced that they would not have followed all the instructions they gave me. So why should I listen?

I regret it now.

Undoubtedly, I will repeat the same parental instincts when am nurturing a child. I only hope that my kid is wiser enough than me to understand the depth of true affection and not find fault with me. :):)

Now that I’ve captured my mental scribbles on to this blog, you-as-a-reader still might trick me into something new…what if the person counselling is not a near and dear one?

Frankly, I don’t have a reply.

Whether my-so-far-stated-argument applies to strangers and acquaintances is another debate altogether. I will surely delve into it…sooner or later in another blog.