Why my mother waited till wee hours for me

I was always a headstrong girl. So naturally, there were no two ways to my ways. It was only my way and my way only.  So when I decided to join a newspaper, where nights-shifts were common, my parents had not much say in it.

But fortunately my parents were cut from a different cloth.  They accepted my head-strong, quirky ways. My father was a go-getter himself, so when his daughter showed similar traits, he hadn’t much to say, though he had lot to say. BTW, which parent  would want their daughter to do night-shifts. But all said and done, they wanted their kids to be SUPER ACHIEVERS. EXTRA ORDINARY. When my father’s friends emphasized their daughters on doing household chores, my parents barred us from entering the kitchen. Study hard. Work Hard. Their only motto in life.

Little wonder, my siblings are doing super-good in their respective fields, while I am trying to build my career and reputation so that my parents could look up to me, at least someday, if not today.  Marriage has mellowed me. Family has suddenly assumed  priority.

But I was not the same Jini 10 years back. Bubbling with enthusiasm and excitement I had enrolled for a a Pg in Journalism and Communication. Once I was through with the cause, I joined the Asian Age Newspaper. Given that my house was a good 20 kms away from the press, the editor took pity on me and put me on the features team. (For the uninitiated, the newspaper industry demands night shifts, features team can leave early). I was enjoying my time in the features department. I made pages, wrote some frivolous stories, solicited celebrities and all. And, more importantly, I reached home on time, i.e., before 8 pm.

But then after spending a considerable amount of time in the features department, I was shifted to hard news desk. Here the reporters were supposed to stay back and proofread copies when the first drafts were ready. Simply put, the reporters had to stay back till 1.00 or 2.00 am in the night.

Now the actual story starts here. My parents were unable to understand my obsession for Journalism. They wanted me to quit this industry (though eventually I did). But I was stubborn and wanted to continue it at all costs. And my returning late nights literally terrified them, especially my mother.

But then their fears were not unfounded. Once I was returning home around 2.00 am (I can feel goose pimples while writing this) I felt this boy following me. I don’t know from where I got this courage from, but I was absolutely fearless. (Probably, the hymns that I keep singing while riding alone gave me the confidence to take him head-on. I rose above fear). Let him follow, I told myself.  So he followed me for at least 10 kms and then suddenly he speeds his bike and stands in front of me, saddled on his bike. Now, let me tell you, the entire road was deserted and silent, so much so that you could hear the pin drop. But then instead of stopping my two-wheeler and getting frightened, I simply maneuvered my vehicle and went my way.  Luckily the boy didn’t follow. What If he had? I had decided to punch him left, right and center.   Anyway, when I shared this story with my parents, they didn't seem disturbed enough. And that disturbed me, for i thought that they will crack under the weight of my revelation. But what I came to know later on was that my mother never slept before me after that incident.  She would stay wide awake till 1am or 2 am and keep praying for my safety till I returned home. Once she would hear the gates of the house opening in the night, she knew i was home and thereafter she would sleep peacefully thereafter.

I showed the same spirit when there were riots in our city in 2002. It was international news. But I can vividly remember, taking my two-wheeler and riding alone on deserted roads and sometimes with my peer in the curfew hit areas of the city. It gave me a different high.

Those were the days.  I was a rebel, a maverick, hot-blooded woman to the core, courageous from every fiber of my being. A wild, pompous prick to be precise. Nothing could stop me. Neither rain, pain nor shine. If rains flooded our areas, I would take a ride in an open tempo to the office. Literally. Those were the days. 

I still have the same spirit buried in some corner of my heart. 

I will ensure that this blog post remains accessible in an un-altered state for a minimum of one year.

This blog post is written for Mountain Dew 'Rise Above Fear' contest held in association with indiblogger.  

My College Years: A Truckload of Tears N Hail Mary’s Said In Hundred folds

The year 2004 was one helluva year. I, Jini Maxin Fernandez, just-got-married-and-just-got-pregnant had committed the biggest crime of the year. I had dared to pursue my marriage, masters and a baby, all at the same time, very much against the conventions of the society. Not surprisingly, my in-laws suggested:  drop the baby, which was met with a vehement NOPE from my end. My father suggested: drop the degree course, and I gave him same answer as well. NOPE.

Yes, the road towards my masters’ degree was one roller coaster ride that went only downwards. There was a glitch at every step of my way, as if the universe was conspiring against me. But then God took pity on my truckload of tears and Hail Mary’s said in hundred folds, and sent me a guardian angel in the form of Malti Mam, our programme coordinator, who eventually became my torchbearer in those two grueling years. She compelled me to go on. Pronto.

My marriage and masters happened almost at the same time. It was the year 2004: three years after the Gujarat earthquake, two years after the Godhra riots and one year after my stint in journalism.  It was the year, I elected the goal of my life. Pursue a degree in communications and be the next Barkha Dutta in the making.

Little wonder, my masters and marriage were @ loggerheads. Both couldn’t and wouldn’t live together. On top of it, I got pregnant. It simply seemed out of character, to my in-laws especially, for a married, pregnant lady like me to pursue her masters so wholeheartedly. So happily – unhappily, with no other way in sight, i walked out of my marriage to marry my Masters. Though part of me wanted my marriage to work, but part of it couldn’t wait to put everything behind me.

My masters was all that mattered to me, after all.  Okay, i accept. My masters was rather more important to me than my marriage. Nothing could or should get in my way towards my PG. So, i landed myself at my parent’s place to finish my masters and have a baby at the same time.  

Amidst a growing rift in the marriage, and birthing a baby, i did my Post Graduation. It was year 2006, (second year of my college) when both my baby and study trip to Hyderabad were scheduled. As expected, my mother was at the gears and decided to take care of the baby so that i could make a peaceful trip to Hyderabad. And what a trip it was? (And sadly it was the only college trip i had so far.) Our college admitted only 12 students at that time and all of us got together for this trip. It’s almost 8 years now. When i look back, Malti mam, our trip coordinator, had scheduled us to visit a series of places. There was Char Minar, Ramoji flim city, Golconda fort and lot more on the cards. And, of course, we made it to all the places in our five day long visit. However, of all the places, Ramoji film city was impressive of all and for obvious reasons.

Our class of 12 students on the farewell day of our college

This film city is any filmmakers’ paradise. Replicas of world renowned architectural wonders can be easily found here, from Taj Mahal to Qutub Minar to  Delhi's Mughal gardens to Vrindavan Garden, Mysore and much more. The flamboyant locales, picturesque avenues and excellent flim-making infrastructure are sure to turn any sane person insane. Such is its beauty and splendor. Spread in 2000 acre, the film city is certified by the Guinness World Records as the world’s largest film studio.

If you haven’t seen it, get going. Better late than never.

Even the visit to Golconda Fort was quite fascinating. The lighting and the laser show was a sight to behold.

I would always be grateful to my college for organizing this mind-blowing trip to Hyderabad. The best of all was to have the Hyderabadi biryani in Hyderabad. BTW I didn’t get to taste it, for I saved all the money to buy gifts for relatives at home.
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As part of our curriculum we also made a field trip to one of the remote villages in Sabarkantha.  This was an emotional trip, a complete opposite to the former trip I undertook. What hit me hard on this trip were the poverty of the villagers and high rates of metal retardation being experienced by children over here. Only if I had a magic wand, I would’ve loved to wipe away all their pain and sorrow with a single whoosh.   

PS. – I have don’t have many firsts to my credit, but then I don't know whether I should be proud of the fact that I maybe the only mother to have successfully completed her Masters in Development Communication course from Gujarat University. Anyway. Luv and a huge hug to my generous mother without whom life would have been a real hell in my post graduation days. Of course, later on, i made peace with my enemy (read hubby) as well.

PPS - This post is my entry for 'My College Diary' contest held by travel blog My Yatra Diary in collaboration with Collegedunia.com' 

I would like to tag Ankita, Vishal Bheeroo, and InderpreetKaurUppal for this post.

'Bloody Maths'

Oops!!! Did I just say that? But then being a dabba in Maths, I believe, this is the most apt and most honest word that describes my feelings towards the subject, SERIOUSLY. My Maths papers were always dripping with blood marks, sorry red marks, so much so that if you squeeze it, you’ll get enough red to fill an IV bottle.

 Hmm…Did you say, I am exaggerating? Huh! You should have seen my answer sheets.

On hindsight, Maths periods in school were ultra-devastating. The sight of the teacher in itself gave me heartburns, because I knew, once again, I would have no answer to her volley of stupid questions. In fact, i cherished those days when she was absent - haash chalo aaj jaan chutti.

However, I believe, despite my huge dislike for Math, I might have hated this subject a little less, had my Maths teacher being a little less serious-minded. (She was a devil in angels clothing.) When she knew that three-fourths of the class is weak in Maths, instead of throwing her weight around, she could’ve helped us by being friendly and innovating new methods of teaching us. But no, she thought she was right in being stern and serious and it was our fault and fault in our stars if we were not doing well in Maths.  (Perhaps, she took pride in the fact, that only the best and brightest could clear her question papers.) 

Damnit!!! How could she find fault with students when all that she did was scribble some formulas on the board and then go blah…blah…blah…about them. Hello mam!!!This is something that even a kid from 12^th standard could do. Being a teacher, that too a Maths teacher, you should’ve been more careful and devised ways that made Maths seem less devious and easy to understand.  But no, you struck to your conventional methods and made life hell for us kids.

And yes, only my father knew how to put you in place during those PTA meetings. Was he not right in arguing with you, when he said, (no he shouted from rooftops for the entire school to hear), that when his kid could score good, better and average marks in rest of the subjects, how come she always failed in Maths. So, there was something wrong with the teacher and not the student. Of course, the Maths teacher used to go numb and dumb in front of my father. She had no right answers to my father’s relevant questions. Sadly, only when my father’s voice boomed across our  school corridors, were the only times she realized that probably she could do something to help me do better. But the next day, she was her usual self, ranting out formulas to the board. Hmmm…some people never change.    

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Tenth standard prelims were just over. The teacher had summoned my father once again. Of course, there was no change in my Maths marks. AGGRRRRRR…SHE HAD LITERALLY PAINTED MY PAPER IN RED.

Who will talk down whom was the big question in my mind now? Will my father be the winner as usual, or my Maths teacher will have an upper hand.

Ohmigod…You won’t believe this.

For the first time in my schooling years, the Maths teacher and father spoke cordially. It was literally a bolt from the blue for me then. In face, all their seriousness had been swept off in thin air. My Maths teacher was in a jolly good mood and told my father that she had set the paper really tough, so all the red marks mean nothing. And since, I was able to reach the border line I am quite capable of scoring far more and better in the boards.

Her words seemed unbelievable to my ears. I stood there...simply stunned. 

The post is part of cadbury5Star contest held in collaboration with indiblogger . 

               

English Vinglish

Every human being should know two languages: the language of society and language of signs. One serves to communicate with other people, the other serves to understand God’s message.

―Paulo Coelho

Literally speaking, the world eats, speaks and sleeps English these days. And there is no argument here. With 67 countries using English as their first or second language, English automatically scores over Mandarin as the language of the society. It is the most WIDELY SPOKEN, most WIDELY READ, and most WIDELY WRITTEN language of the world, a language that's capable of single-handedly linking several nations together. In fact, going forward, Chinese will speak more of English than Mandarin, thereby becoming the number one English speaking country in the world.

Flags of English speaking countries

    

So, when Coelho spoke about language of society, in all probability, he meant English. It is no more considered an elitist language, but the language of a common man…language of AAM AADM in India...the language of the masses… a language that’s powering the growth of modern India.

The rise of BPO and KPO culture in India, in turn, the rise of urban middle class can be solely credited to increased use of English language. The city of Bengaluru is best known as the “The silicone Valley Of India” because of its ever growing English speaking IT populace. Little wonder, even Narendra Modi, BJP’s Prime Ministerial candidate, keeps harping upon the importance of English education in all his election speeches. 

For us Indians English is our second language. But some of us are so fluent in English that we can give any native speaker a run for their money. Many from affluent families have, in fact, ditched their native tongue and have taken to speaking English almost all the time: and I proudly proclaim that I am one of them.  I speak English at every given opportunity. Some people, including my dearest mom is not in favor for this. As she calls me: ANGREZ KI BETI.  But what I want to tell her is: "Mommy dear why don’t you understand that if i know the language what’s wrong in flaunting it, more so when English is being treated as the IT language of this century. Moreover, you made it a point to get me educated in an English medium school, so you too, in a way, acknowledge the rising importance of English across the globe.  So, then why bother me now."   

Why should you learn Queen’s Lingo?

    You become a part of the educated and sophisticated crowd. Your status gets elevated automatically. 

     Your confidence level shoots up and it positively contributes to your personality.

     You can earn your bread and butter with ease, what with IT companies coming up in every nook and cranny.

     You get to read the best of the books, from Salman Rushdie to William Faulkner.

     You can travel anywhere in the world for work and education as universe becomes a level playing field. 

Inspired by its growing importance and acceptance, all my non-English speaking neighbors have put their children in English medium schools. Though they are pakka Gujjus and can hardly speak and read the language, but these locals have not let these disadvantages deter their spirit. On the other hand, their steely determination to introduce their kids to the word’s most widely used language has inspired them hire tutors to help their kids cope with it. 

So if given an opportunity to go to UK for further studies, i look forward to pursuing English literature and creative writing; that too from none other than Oxford University. Yes, to be the best, you've to be among the best. Yours truly  being an aspiring author, a degree in English literature from UK, I believe, will help me polish my skills as a writer and probably will be my passport to international fame and prosperity. Considering the Queen’s Lingo originated here, I believe this is the best country to polish my English reading, writing skills.

About a year ago, I thought my English was par excellence, until one of my colleagues pointed out that I make silly punctuation errors. Okay, fine, I will work on it, I told her.  This colleague of mine is quite allergic to Indian authors and being an editor for a decade this female finds all Indian authors BELOW AVERAGE. In her words “the kind of punctuation errors these published authors make is really sickening. How could they? Indian writers are really pathetic in grammar, and that’s the reason why I don’t read them. I only read foreign authors”.

Point taken. For this colleague of mine,  grammar is the be all and end all of English. "Damn with the story" she says, " first of all, get your grammar correct." So of late, influenced by her pep talk I’ve started  Grishaming a lot. Mitch Albom and Dan Browns have taken  over Chetan Bhagat and Preeti Shenoy.  But then we do have good Indian English writers, and plenty of them in fact, who have made us proud on the international scene. These extraordinary writers of Indian origin  include Salman Rushdie, Jhumpa Lahri, Arvind Adiga, Amitav Ghosh etc, etc. And who’s the writer of  'A Suitable Boy? Ya, Vikram Seth. All these Indian authors have great  body of work to their credit. But one common thing that binds these authors is their foreign degrees. So, you see, they are not purely home bred authors. If it were not for their foreign degrees, I don't think these authors could have come this far. In other words, it is by virtue of their foreign degrees they could come up with truly great work of art that got them international attention and accolades.

So, if at all, I am given an opportunity to travel to UK on study visa, I look forward to studying English Literature and creative writing in the company of greats. Who knows if i am able to pursue this course, i  may even bag the Man Booker Prize, going forward. Ouch!!!Did i say that.

This post is part of Knowledge is Great contest being held on Indiblogger. 

Two Golden Gifts From God – Aryan n Ayaansh

5 Special Gifts That’ll Help Safeguard Their Future

Just 20 days ago I was blessed with my second sweet little bundle of joy − Ayansh. My cutie pie turns 20 days old today and the first best gift that we as responsible parents have bestowed upon him on his arrival on this earth was to get his umbilical cord preserved. We did this because we were told that the preservation of umbilical cord would safeguard our child from various life threatening diseases such as cancer, thalesemia, diabetes and lots more. More than anything else, even my elder son Aryan would benefit from this preservation, we were told. So without giving way to afterthoughts we decided to get Ayansh’s umbilical cord preserved for a decent sum.

I know in case of Ayansh we set things off in the right track by preserving his umbilical cord, now the next big step, I as a concerned parent who’s worried about her kids future would be to get a child’s insurance policy. I and my hubby have been contemplating on taking HDFC’s Children’s Plan since we had Aryan in our midst eight years back, but so far haven’t done anything about it. Now with the arrival of Ayansh I believe things will have to move on a war footing.

The third best gift I believe would be to introduce my kids to the world of Books. Books have been a source of inspiration for me and I believe a single good book is equivalent to a 100 friends. And I want my kids to follow suit. Books are an epitome of knowledge and intelligence. It’s one of the best investments I as a parent would love to make on my kids; and not on gold and diamonds. Such valuables can be stolen but values and wisdom gained from books stays with you forever.   

The fourth best gift that comes to my mind is Higher Education.  These days, everyone seems busy getting a masters degree for him or herself. In other words, everyone is busy studying hard. Now to make my kids stand tall among the rest, I wish to be instrumental in helping them bag the best degrees from highly renowned and influential colleges. If they have the aptitude and the spirit, I may don’t have to do much, just a wee bit of financial help will do, and they on their own would make it. 

Last but not the least: Good Values. Every day, our news channels and newspapers are filled with negative stories. Stories of rape, murders, cheating, killing, kidnapping so on and so forth, dominate the media channels.  Since our kids are growing up in this hostile environs it’s difficult to keep them away from these happenings. So the best thing that I can do for them so that they could make out good from the bad, right from the wrong, is by making them aware of good values.  For this, I’d inspire my kids to read the Bible, attend Sunday masses, and read other spiritual and moral books. I’ve been doing this and it has been helping me a lot and I believe this is something which even my kids could gain from.

These are the first five gifts that came to my mind immediately on seeing the title for this post. Hopefully, with God's grace, I wish to gift these precious gifts to my darling lil ones sooner than later.

Cheers   

This post is a part of the 1001 Gifts Activity by HDFC Life in association with BlogAdda

Fishterians In My Family

Have you experienced a ‘Fish High’? What??? A Fish High??? Yeah! A Fish High! Ask my pa-in-law about it. He experiences that often. Just request him to get some fresh fish from the market and he is already on a high. Then the routine that he follows is something that keeps him hooked on his high − gingerly cleaning up the fishes, chopping them into small fine pieces and then rustling up a yummy meen curry for the whole family. UMMM! (My pa-in-law is a handy cook and he doesn't mind exhibiting his culinary skills once in a while.) His fascination for fishes is a given thing in the family, so much so that he won’t mind paying a king's ransom for some quality fishes. He shares a deep, deep bond with his fish friends (and this is no exaggeration). In fact, he can have fishes in any form: curry, fried, pickle, chutney,with coconut, without coconut, so on and so forth.

In case you don't know, every mallu worth his salt is a die-heart fish fan. And if you are a mallu, and that too from the southern part of Kerala like my pa-in-law, the craze for gorging on yummylicious fish curries and fried fishes come inherited. People here won't mind having fishes in the morning, fishes in the noontime and fishes and more fishes when the sun goes down’. My people in Kollam (Quilon) eat, speak and breathe fish, day in and day out. Kollam abounds in backwaters and so do fresh-water fishes. You will find them all year around (except during monsoons). The families here own both small and big boats, and most of them are involved in fish trading. My mamus, in fact, can catch fishes with bare hands, while my hubby’s uncles and cousins are proud owners of life-size-boats used for fishing in high seas.



Apart from fishes what makes Kerala so endearing to the Keralities, and probably to the rest of the world, is the carpet of greenery. Each and every inch of our tharavadu (ancestral home) and surroundings perfectly resonate with the theme, ‘God’s Own Country.’ Tall coconut trees, jack fruit trees, teak wood trees, etc., make it almost impossible for ordinary mortals like us to peak heavenward. Forget about figuring out flying aeroplanes in the sky, even the sight of the sun and moon become a priceless moment for us. Only when the natural light wills it way through blanket of greenery, you’ll come know there’s a sun or moon shining out there.

So, for my pa-in-law relocating to a dry state like Gujarat was more of a nightmare than a dream come true. But his survival instinct kicked in and Ahmedabad has been a home for him for over three decades now.

Kerala though rich in flora and fauna, has the largest number of migrants because of lack of industrialization. It would be better off living in Ahmedabad than going Gulf, he thought. But, though he managed to put Kerala on the back of his mind and decided to stay put in Ahmedabad, thanks to the flourishing mill industry here, he was unable to forget his fish friends. He would get up as early as 5 a.m. and reach the market before anyone does, so that he could lay his hands on freshest fishes. He would go around the city scouting for fresh fish supplying destinations. Fishes such as prom frets, lady fishes, surmai, sardines and so on were on his hit list.

Once he's home from the market he fills the freezer with his priceless treasure. Of the many kgs he has got for the family, he would choose the best of them, clean them, cut them and then pester his dear wife to make a spicy curry and even fry some. His passion for fishes is so infectious. that everyone in the family looks forward to a sumptuous meal flanked by fish curry every Sunday.

Fish weekends are a smiley weekends for my family (a breakaway from the everyday routine of dal, roti and rice); however, it turns out to smelly weekends for our neighbours. Not just our next door neighbours, even those living two floors above us can smell fish being cooked in the closed walls of our homes. The one living above is Swaminarayan. I don’t know how does this family tolerate us? They don’t even use garlic or onion in their food and imagine them smelling fish. Well, we have been living in the same flat for over 8 years now, but our beloved neighbors have never uttered a word against us, let alone complain. I appreciate their generosity. Even the security guard downstairs knows when fish is being prepared in our house. The smell (read: aroma) spreads far and wide. We do our best to put away the so called smell by lighting incense sticks all around the house, and by burning natural mosquito repellants. But all these traditional methods of doing away with the smell doesn't help much. As a last resort, we use room sprays, etc., just to make visitors, who drop in out of the blue, feel comfortable.

Considering the consternation our poor society people suffer(how can I not sympathize with them in their sorrow?) I feel it's high time for companies to introduce sprays that has a far-reaching effect −something that would act as a breath of fresh air for the majority of the non-fish eating community. Nevertheless, I do dread the day, when someone from the society orders my family to stop making fish and do them a social favor. Undoubtedly, that would be the doomsday for my pa-in-law.


This entry is part of "Smelly To Smiley!"contest on www.indiblogger.in.