On dating

Today I was helping Chinnu put on a skirt for school. Since I am sick and was not rushing like a mad woman, I noticed something. The baby fat was completely and totally gone. And in it's place were little curves. My 6 year old has curves! When did she grow up? My shocked mind fast forwarded to a few years ahead. The girl is a total girl at 6 - loves to dress up etc. What would happen when she became a teenager in a paltry 7 more years?

To add to the general shock, bits of recent conversations came to mind:

Amma how did you and appa decide to get married?d
Amma I'm going to get married when I'm 30.
Me: Why 30?
Because R anna is almost 30 and is looking to get married.

This kind of banter seemed cute at the time - now comes the uncomfortable realization that it's going to start in a few years - those feelings unleashed by the onset of puberty and raging hormones. Remember those days, I asked myself.

I was brought up in what would now be considered a pretty "conservative" manner. I went to an all girls school and dating was not discussed. I dealt with my share of raging hormones and the result was a conviction that everyone must date. Dating, I was convinced, was the cure for the sexually repressed. It would solve many social evils such rape, incest, pedophilia, and would also reduce encounters of the Shady kind between members of the opposite sex (that usually got the parties into the very trouble they wanted to avoid - being discovered). Was it so hard for our wise elders to comprehend that boys and girls grow up and in the process sexuality will come a knocking and they will respond in some way? How is it possible that a conservative society that frowned upon any kind of non-legalized romantic liaison between boys and girls expected married couples to start procreating asap? Thus I raved with all my twenty something indignation and self-righteousness that is the hallmark of the young.

Well, fast forward to today when I am no longer twenty something and am drowning in the angst of seeing my offspring becoming a young girl. Am I going to be comfortable about Chinnu dating? Of course (says the me I want to be). The other me (that nagging possessive me) is cringing. What if some idiot boy breaks her heart? What if I don't approve of who she dates? Will she keep her head screwed on tight? Will she grow from it? Will she love me as much? Will she stop needing me? But despite all these nagging questions, I am sure of one thing - I will never ever be negative about this. I will make sure that I respect her as a growing woman and never be a thorn in her her quest for love, puppy or otherwise.

Rebirth and growing up as a mother

I ususally do not write about my my life as a mom or about my daughters. But today, on my drive back from work, I found myself thinking about them and smiling. Now, I'm not one of your sappy people. I am not overly demonstrative in my affections and sometimes I do feel like leaving the family and going away for a bit on my own. But, I have to tell you, there are times when I become a sentimental mom and feel like the luckiest woman to have such crazily lovable kids.
Chinnu and her sweet sweet nature, love of all people, no discriminations, her goodness of heart, her love of all things fun and total and ultimate love of life. Her enthusiasm is infectious and her sense of humor is amazing. On the other hand, the little devil. Where do I start with her? Her complete mistrust of people, her aggressive, jealous, possessive nature, her bums shaking as she runs around, her love of music, her love for walking with shoes. I wonder how it is possible that two people can make two kids that are as unlike each other as night and day.
They make me laugh, these two little tots. They make me want to bite and eat them, squeeze them till they beg to be let go, smell them, whack them, scream at them, shake them, kiss them and love them forever. I hope they are this happy and bring so much happiness for years to come.

I love you girls (despite what I am about to say).

Some days (especially when I meet up with or talk to childhood friends), I float outside my body and marvel at this new person I've become since I became a mom. Mommyhood emotions are as varied as the colors in the spectrum. From women who fall in love with their children and mommyhood to those like Meryl Streep (in the Bridges of Madison County): When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children, in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave they take your life of details with them. And then you're expected move again only you don't remember what moves you because no-one has asked in so long. Not even yourself."

Today I'm thankful that I do not feel like Meryl Streep's character. Yes I have changed a lot - I am always ensuring that the girls are well fed, and well rested. Everything else comes after that. So there goes spontaneity out the door.
I can't get naughty with the hubby when ever I feel like - what am I saying - like I even have energy for that stuff anymore :).
I worry a lot - it's hard for me take lightly the responsibility of two creatures that lived inside me for almost a year. It's much much better with the little devil (maybe her being a devil helps).
I am all about schedule, schedule, schedule. My motto: a happy child/mother is one who has a predictable routine. When I was a free single gal, I used to pity people who led lives of routine. Touche.

You know those people who feel sorry for the couple with kids that have nothing to say in a restaurant? Well, they should shut up because they have no clue what they're talking about. It's a luxury to eat in silence, when you can just enjoy your meal. But then, how would I know? The only times I've had a silent meal is when the hubby and Chinnu were away in Desh.

In my case, my life of details are kept spiced by my various hobbies. Thanks to the domesticity and routine in my life, I am now enjoying music and dance lessons. Whereas with Chinnu, I would have died with guilt for being away from her for a few hours during weekends, as if being away the entire week was not enough, now I have come to enjoy these activities and the company of my fellow moms/girls who do these with me.
The few stolen moments with hubby are even more precious because they are so hard to get.
The kids are a joy for the most part - they make me feel like I did the right thing because they love life so.

As I grow older and more experienced in mommyhood, I realize that the best part is I am not guilty all the time. It's not so bad to be late to pick up your kid once in a while. It's not so bad to do things for yourself even if it means taking out some time that you could be spending with them. Quality matters more than quantity.

I'm also trying to let go a bit. It's not so bad to have their routines messed up once in a while. It's impossible to keep them safe all the time - accept that accidents will happen and their perfect skin will start sporting blemishes. Accept that Chinnu is growing and learning a lot from other people (not necessarily approved by me) and it's OK. That's growing up. Accept that Chinnu is growing up - she's half my height and incredibly independent. She loves me but does not need me as much. I actually like that.

I tell myself often that hubby and I are lucky to have these munchkins. We do a lot together and despite all the routine and domesticity, life is good and fun. Our house is full of life, laughter and chatter.

Tales from my school days - Episode 2

This one takes the cake as to the kind of crazy things (that are publishable) that I did back in school.

I was (still am) extremely fond of cats. My house was a haven for numerous strays that I went to great lengths to befriend. I would beg and cajole my mother into letting me feed the cats and she would always give in after making a big fuss about what ungrateful thieving creatures they were.

Anyways, once, a friend and I found a pair of kittens at school. They had not yet opened their eyes and someone had put them in a box and left them in a gutter. Being the cat lovers that we were, we decided to rescue them and took them with us to the classroom. We of course knew that this act would be looked upon with the utmost disapproval, so we hid the little creatures inside our desk. During the geography class, one little kitten was probably hungry and began to mew. I could see a puzzled look on the teacher’s face when she heard it the first time. The mewing continued and the teacher began to get visually upset. She scowled at a girl sitting in front and said “M, stop making that noise”. Of course M had no idea what was going on and pleaded innocence. When the mewing didn’t stop, my friend R and I decided it was best to come clean. We told her about the kittens and begged her to help us feed them some milk. The teacher had a kind soul and led us to the teachers’ staff room where we tried to feed them cow’s milk. Of course, that turned out to be unsuccessful. R and I did not give up though. I took my kitten to music class after school, and finally brought it home at five o’clock in the evening. The poor kitten had spent an entire day in strange surroundings including a desk, a bag, and a ride on a public transportation bus. My mother was speechless when she saw what I had in the bag. “What exactly do you think you can do for the kitten?” she asked me. “We can see if Sundari can feed her milk” I replied. Sundari was my cat, a virgin (I did not know this of course). My mother shook her head in consternation and said Sundari would not be able to help with the milk. My heart sank. I tried feeding the kitten cow’s milk with an ink dropper and what have you, but of course the poor thing died. It had gone for twenty four hours without food. I was devastated but my busy life and time healed the wound.

Disclosure

I watched this on TV this weekend. Though the movie was not out of this world, it made an impression because it strikes a chord in me.

- Sexual harassment is the outcome of the power one person has over another. Thankfully, I have not been a victim of sexual hasrassment but I have witnessed corporate bullying - same concept, different manifestation.

- I have been unfortunate enough to deal with HR (no offense intended, but my experience was BAD) and was left wondering what the function of HR actually is. This movie shows the HR guy team up with the powerful to bury the innocent, less powerful victim. Exactly my experience.

- The chief of the company, trying to hush up a sexual harassment case perpetrated by a woman on her subordinate, upon finding out that the victim is going to press charges despite him and his pals trying their utter best to prevent this from happening, says: This is the United States of America. The legal system was invented to protect guys like me (may not be exact words). Not funny if you've been through sexual harassment, bullying etc.

A leap back in time - stories from my school days

Before I get to the main topic, the lady I referred to in my previous post came to work today in a beautiful dress for the first time!!! Alright, at least I provided some inspiration to cheer up the workplace a bit with some girly eye candy.

Now, coming to the topic of this post - I met my music group last night. One of the nice things about this group is we always end up talking about fun non-music related stuff (what do you expect when you put seven girls in a room?). And yesterday it was about - our school days. I had written this up a few months ago when I had taken time off from work and remembered it after this conversation. Thought I'd put it up here.

I went to an all girls’ school, in Secunderabad, India. It was a grey building – everything was grey, inside and out and it bore an uncanny resemblance to a jail. The school was run by a group of Roman Catholic nuns with an iron hand. The administrators tried very hard to instill discipline, piety, and moral values in us (we had a mandatory class called Moral Science every week). They also tried to make us well rounded by having classes such as S. U. P. W. (Socially useful productive work, dubbed by many of the girls as Socially Un-Productive Work), language classes (Sanskrit or Telugu) and sports (Sanskrit was almost extinct even in those days and most of it was taught in English).

One thing engraved in my memory is the dress code in school, a code that was stricter than that enforced by the Army. This code was particularly enforced during the so called sports period. Starting from your hair to your shoes, everything had to be just so, or else you could expect to participate in a barbecue – your own. For straying from the dress code implied spending an hour roasting under the merciless Secunderabad heat on bare knees watching other girls frolic. The most complicated aspect was the hair. The luckiest girls were the ones with very short hair for they did not have to bother about it at all. If you had hair that was between 12 and 15 inches in length, you were expected to tie it up in two pony tails, and God forbid if a single strand went astray. If your hair was between 15 and 20 inches, you were expected to wear two plaits with black ribbons to hold the ends. If your hair was over 20 inches long, you were expected to wear two plaits with one important condition: the plaits had to form a perfect U, and again God forbid if a single strand went astray.
Next was the uniform inspection. We wore a white shirt and a skort like pleated skirt in navy blue. The shirt had to be blindingly white. And (this is my pet peeve and always got me into trouble) everyone had to wear a tie. Yes, you heard right – a tie. Imagine hundreds of girls wearing ties in scorching 40 plus heat playing basketball, baseball etc. I still get shivers thinking about that thing. It was like a rope around my neck always threatening me – you do one thing wrong and you will be strangled.
Then the accessories: all the girls had to wear their house badge – no excuses for forgetting your badge. But the piece de resistance was the shoes. Shoes had to be polished white with liquid white polish. The tiniest speck of dirt resulted in barbecuing. There were some naive girls who put their enterprising skills to work and "polished" their shoes with chalk. Boy, did they get into trouble! The last thing that was inspected was nails (thankfully only finger nails). Thank God for teeth that could be put to good use when we forgot to trim our nails.

Despite its scary appearance the school was one of the most prestigious and popular schools in the city, particularly with the boys. It was the school where upper middle class and rich girls and wannabe fashionistas went. I loved going to school – it was my escape in to a world filled with exciting characters. I was surrounded by girls from vastly different backgrounds than my own – they spoke different languages, they ate different food, they had completely different lifestyles than my own. And some of them were extremely intelligent. I had this one friend who had pondered the concept of God and the origin of the Universe at the age of 11. We once had a conversation that went something like this:
P: I don’t believe that there is a God.
Me: Then how can you explain your existence?
P: My birth can be explained by science.
Me: (guessing where this was heading) OK, how do you explain the origin of all living species?
P: They came from dust.
Me: How did the dust come to being?
P: It just did.

I was somewhat unsure about whether or not I believed in God. My mother was moderately religious while my father was not. The closest I had come to divinity was when I watched the movie Ben-Hur. After this conversation, I felt a bit awed. How did living matter come from dust? And come to think of it, I had no idea how my birth could be explained by science. During this time, I went to a cousin’s wedding. During the train ride from Secunderabad to Madras, I had come up with a theory on how I could have got out of my mother’s tummy – doctor cuts it open and fishes me out. However, I was still very confused about how my cat had given birth without having visited a vet. As it happened, there were a couple of older boys at the wedding that I became friends with and one evening the conversation meandered to just this topic. I was introduced to the theory of the birds and the bees by teenage boys who were kind of amused at my innocence. I was mortified and spent the rest of the evening going to great lengths to avoid them.

More tales to follow - this time I mean it as I have already written them down.

To wear a skirt to work or not? Tales of a woman in a male dominated profession Part 2

After grad school, I did a stint as a post doc with a woman. It was a great experience to be in the company of a woman who was not only an accomplished scientist but looked gorgeous and was not afraid to dress like a girl on occasion. Coming from a lab full of males to a lab dominated by women was a sea change. Whereas as a grad student I had to learn many things on my own (I did have one awesome mentor after I'd spent a couple of years in the lab), deal with not so friendly lab mates a tough boss and a lab that looked like a twister had hit a tinkerer's garage, as a post-doc I entered a well organized lab where things shone. Black laser light shielding curtains hung from pretty shower curtain hooks. The girls in the lab hung out and actually helped each other. I was like wow!

After this, I came to an enineering company - ruled by men for the most part who had well established their individual territories. The company has less than 10% women in engineering roles. When I first started the job, I was too busy learning the job and learning how to do the working mommy - baby balancing act to have any energy left over to process what it meant to be in a male dominated environment. However, with the passing years, a few things started to get my attention. One of them was clothes. I like wearing girly clothes - you know skirts etc. Nothing flamboyant, just regular old skirts. One of the women I know who has been in this industry a very long time once told me that she never had the guts to wear anything but pants because she was sure nobody would take her seriously if she wore girly clothes. I was flummoxed - the thought had never occured to me. (I mean nobody would take me for a bimbo even if I wore a dress - I do not even remotely look like one, right?). But after I had this conversation, I began to feel a bit self conscious. Very often, I am the only woman in a room full of men of all sizes, ages, and races, and wearing a nice girly dress, pretty earrings - would that be distracting? But once that thought occured to me, I got impatient with myself for even thinking it. I mean, don't I have enough on my plate already without adding what men at work think about how I dress to it? Let's face it, the human species (like perhaps most species) exists to flaunt it's good stuff, gratify it's ego in whatever ways it can.

Do you choose your work or does it choose you? Tales of a woman in a male dominated profession - Part 1

I am a scientist and ever since my grad school days, have been the only woman, or one of a handful of women in the type of work I do. (A notable exception was my stint as a post-doc when I worked for a woman who led a woman dominated lab). When I started grad school in a laser spectroscopy lab, a brand new foreign student who had never seen a laser ever, much less interacted with amazing Russian scientists you only read about, I was intimidated to unbearable levels. Now, I'm not someone that is easily intimidated. So when I chose the lab I did to embark upon my career in Science, I wondered if I'd made the right decision - you know - how on earth was I going to survive in such an environment? But that was part of the thrill - the advisor was revered an in his field, the lab was full of some amazing male brain (brawn - hmmmm a bit disappointing there), and there was cool equipment everywere. This was science geek paradise. If I can claim that I pushed the envelope a bit in my life, this was certainly one of those times. As it turned out, I did have a hard life - my advisor ruled with an iron hand and treated me just the same as the big Russian guys - he hung me on a rope and verbally made mincemeat out of me every time I screwed up or didn't meet his stringent intellectual standards. Earning his respect was a big deal for me and anytime I was made mincemeat of was excruciatingly painful. I just didn't have the thick hide my colleagues did to not care - I cared about his opinion of me deeply. Female vs. male response? After a couple of such episodes, I convinced myself that he did not think much of me and I went on a passionate mission to prove myself. The result was that I aced one of his courses (topped it - I did better than all those Russian brains). I was overjoyed - not only because I topped the course but because my advisor bothered to come and give me this information and for the very first time told me that he thought I was doing good work. Imagine that? I was like what??? You think so? That's when I realized he was my champion. To this day, he has only wonderful things to say about me when I ask for references and he is one of the very few champions I have had in my career.

The long and short of this story is that I am beginning to realize that my biggest vulnerability is this need to be appreciated. Is this a woman problem in general? Throw into this mix decisions on what to wear to work, interacting with male colleagues etc., there's never a dull moment. Part 2 to follow.

My remorseful heart aches from the knowledge
That yours was hurt more than I will know
My heart is weary from fighting battles
That threaten to make memories flow
My heart is frustrated with my mind
That does not let it speak or let it go
My heart fails to understand why
It must suffer in silence, helpless and low.

My anxious heart asks if you're happy
It hangs its head that it does not know
My heart trembles to ask that simple question
How are you? Why is it frightened so?
My heart wants to scream out loud
That the hand that held it, made it glow
Still gives warmth and joy, support and strength
My heart wants to speak when the mind says no.

Healthy odor prevention products please

It was recently brought to my attention that my anti-perspirant is toxic because it contains aluminum. Until then, I was blissfully ignorant of the hazardous nature of this metal. Apparently, the aluminum is added because it clogs the sweat pores and thus prevents you from pouring forth the smelly stuff. So why is aluminum bad? It's linked to Alzheimer's disease and cancer. When I found out about it's link to the former, alarm bells started going off loud and strong. I have been using this stuff for some time and I know that my memory is woefully bad. I immediately threw out the anti-perspirant sticks and thus began my quest for a non-toxic formulation of chemicals that would not make me smell bad.

My desire to ensure that body odor does not invade the olfactory senses of the general public is rooted in years of suffering constant invasion of mine in crowded buses in a South Indian city where summer temperatures soar well above three digits F. This was further solidified when I came to the USA as a graduate student and had to suffer lab mates that smelled bad. Smell is something that one has very little control over - if something looks bad, one can look away, avoid seeing it. If something sounds bad, like music you don't like, it's socially acceptable to say that you don't like it. If something tastes bad - well you get my drift. However, if someone you have to be around smells bad, what can you do? You can't stop breathing. Nor can you gift them anti-perspirant. Anyways, I digress.

Since, I threw out my anti-perspirant, I needed something I could find around the house till I found a non-toxic thing that would keep me smelling good. I turned to that age old white substance called powder. While powder is OK for the first few hours, it didn't work very well for me for an entire day. And, God help me, talc is also bad for you (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talc#Safety).

After doing a lot of research, I found out that there are two things that you can use to keep body odor at bay long term - anti-perspirants (that contain aluminum) and deodarants that may not contain aluminum. Now, I did not know the technical definition of these products. Apparently, anti-perspirants block sweat pores and prevent you from sweating, while deodorants allow you to sweat but supposedly contain stuff that kill the odor causing bacteria in your body fluid. So now, my search was narrowed down to deodorants. I quickly found out that my all purpose store Target, did not seem to have any choices for deodorants. Google came to the rescue as always. I found out that health food stores are a good place to look for deodorants. So off I went to my neighborhood Trader Joe's and I found two varieties of aluminum free deodorants - one was scented and the other was unscented. I picked the Trader Joes brand of uncented deodorant - for no particular reason. Uncented deodorant is a first for me (a friend of mine was quite surprised at the concept) but it does have its advantages - I can now use my perfumes that have been hibernating because I did not want two different scents to fight each other during my scented anti-perspirant days. I will enjoy them until I find out that they contain carcinogenic, brain-numbing chemicals ... I have been feeling rather woozy lately ....

A few moments of peace

It's a Sunday morning and I am enjoying something very rare and precious - a few minutes of utter and absolute quiet. It's as rare as the sighting of a comet and likely as fleeting.

Chinnu and I went shopping yesterday and bought loads of clothes to replenish her wardrobe which was brimming with clothes that she has almost out grown (I picked up a few springy clothes myself). Since I started work two weeks ago, life has become so crazy and out of control, that I toyed with the idea of doing the clothes shopping online. But then, chinnu is my daughter - she needs to get her clothes the same day as the thought of buying them is expressed. She vociferously objected to buying them on the computer because "I can't see and touch them". Hubby tried to help by saying that we'd have a lot more choices online than at the store. She chewed on that for a moment and asked "How will I get the clothes if we buy them on the computer?".
Hubby - "The mailman will deliver them".
Chinnu - "Will I get them today?"
Hubby - "No. Sometime next week."
Chinnu - "I want to go to the store. We can get some today and then shop on the computer if we don't have enough choices at the store."

At this point, I decided to take her to the store. Her excitement for new clothes was rubbing off on me and I was beginning to get excited about looking at and buying stuff.
We went to Old Navy and bought an armload of clothes. At the store, she asks me - "Amma can I wear my new clothes at home?"
Me - "Yes but only after you shower".
Once we came home, she nagged us to help her shower - this a girl who has to be cajoled, yelled at, threatened every single day to take a shower. Amazing what a girl will do for new clothes.
God help me when my daughters grow up.

The Hurt Locker - Best movie???

I watched about an hour of this movie and ended up with a headache. What on earth were all the critics going on about this movie? Someone needs to explain to me why this movie was voted the best movie of 2009. The only thing that made an impression on me was how realistic it looked. It felt like Iraq (though I've never been there or seen footage of anything there). Other than that, I thought it sucked big time.
What was with the shaking camera? I had to close my eyes tight to prevent the dizzyness from taking over. And the plot of the movie? There was none. What was I supposed to get from this movie? Entertainment value - zero. Take away message - ??? Before the movie starts, a quote "War is a drug"appears on the screen. Is this supposed to be profound? Playing with danger can be addictive - yes. Was this the point of the movie?

The end of my vacation

So it's over. And what a way to end it. Today, I went to a concert by Vijay Siva. It is the best concert I have heard in the Bay Area so far. Accompanied by Sriramkumar and JV, he started with the Hamsadwani varanam Pagavari followed by Thulasidalamulache in Mayamalavagowlai with a ragam and brisk swarams. Next was a lovely raga exposition in Sahana in which he sang the Navavarna keertanai. I am currently learning these gems of Dikshithar and it amazes me how rich these songs are (I can't think of any other adjective). Vijay's rendition gave me oose bumps. Next was Shyama Sastry's Sankari Shankuru in Saveri. Good pace and wonderfully done (despite Saveri's proximity to Mayamalavagowlai, I still enjoyed it). Brovabaramma in Bahudaari followed Saveri. Intended as a filler, it was fabulous with brisk swarams. It was almost Madurai Maniesque sarva laghu. Really beautiful. Then came Inta Soukhyamu in Kaapi. Again I had goose bumps. It was laid back and I was filled with a sense of peace. It reminded me of KVN's rendition in his last concert. RKS's rendition of the ragam was slower and very well done. On the heels of Kaapi came a wonderful RTP in Poorvikalyani - Paramama paavana na raama in Mishra nadai triputa talam. The eduppu was half a beat after the last beat. Vijay eased into tishra nadai beautifully during the swaram rendition. This was followed by a bunch of "thikkadas". Fantastic. Every ragam oozed with its essence - his music is just so clear and peaceful. I almost feel that the quality of a person's music is a reflection of that person's personality. It did seem that way. I am totally sated :)

I'm ready to take on tomorrow. The break has done me good. Apparently I also look much better now going by the number of compliments I have got in the past few weeks. That certainly feels good.

Mixed feelings

A lot has happened over the past few days. We went on a trip to our first hometown in the US - Columbus Ohio. A redeye flight in with an infant and a five year old - I thought it would be hell. But both of them were fantastic. I feel lucky to have kids like them. And boy, was it a vacation! Meeting friends and professors from grad school after five years was priceless. I basked in the love of my wonderful friends, ate yummy food, had my favorite ice cream and pizza, and watched my kids have the time of their lives. The little devil would sleep in one house and wake up in another. She must have been totally disoriented, but she was such a gem throughout. Chinnu had such a good time that she wants to stay in Columbus for five years. She became such good friends with the twins of our hosts that one of them cried inconsolably for a long time after we left.

Back home, the little devil started day care in preparation for my starting work after a break of 3 months. I was worried about how that would go given her stranger anxiety issue. She spent two hours yesterday and was not happy. Today it was 3, and she was smiling and playing when I went to pick her up. I was overjoyed and relieved. After that, we didn't hear a peep out of her the rest of the day at home. She was happy and kept herself engaged - no crying or wanting to be picked up. I was consumed with guilt, pity, and sadness. It's like she is no longer the little devil but a little angel. This is the first time she has been away from her immediate family and my heart is breaking.

Despite all the crap that happened at work, I totally enjoyed my three months of bonding with her. She has brought me such joy and the time off has cleared my head. I am actually happy - that's saying a lot. I am proud of my girls and love them so much.

Today we celebrated Vishu, the Tamil/Malyalam new year. I am usually not one to uphold Indian festivities if it's too much work. Given that we got back in the wee hours of yesterday morning and not having any groceries, Vishu would have been just another day. But Chinnu's love for festivities and celebrations motivated me to celebrate the new year with fruits and vegetables displayed in the traditional "kani". Hubby likes to say that it's the little things in life that matter most - today I feel that's so true.

Musings on music

Art and craft have always been an integral part of my life. When I was young, I grew up with music. Like many young girls growing up in south India, I was enrolled in Carnatic music lessons since I was … oh it was so long ago, I don’t remember how old I was. Appreciation of Carnatic music is kind of like appreciation of beer – it is an acquired taste. It is typically the music of the elderly, the antithesis of popular music; some might even consider it to be not melodious! Given all these obstacles to enjoying this art form, it is no wonder that many kids were far from enthusiastic about learning it and usually succeeded in nagging their parents into pulling them out. However, I actually liked it. Before you think that I am a female version of Benjamin Button, let me assure you that I neither looked nor acted too old for my age. It is now, when I do not have much time (or am too exhausted to make time) to practice and enjoy music that I most appreciate the opportunity I had to pursue this art form as a kid.

For me, making and reacting to music is something that happens on a subconscious level. It’s something I do instinctively rather than consciously. I grew up in a city where music blared in public places traveled far and wide, across air suffused with fumes from automobiles. There were the classic M. S. Subbulakshmi and S. P. Balasubramanian and Ghantasaala devotional songs that were hugely popular in temples. Since there was a sizeable Muslim population in my hometown, strains of the Muslim prayer songs could also be heard in the mornings and evenings. Contrary to finding this invasion of my auditory senses annoying, I actually found them soothing. Then there was K. J. Yesudas. My parents were die hard fans of his Malayalam devotional songs and his voice filled our house everyday. I would learn these songs and sing them at the local temple to great appreciation.
When I was very young, I would listen to Hindi film songs every afternoon on the radio. Now this was back in the days when Hindi film songs sounded like they were in Hindi and not like some kind of whining/whimpering/metallic/rapping/headache inducing mixture of random sounds. (Now you know what kind of music I like). Every night my dad would listen to a Carnatic music concert on the radio - this was when there was no TV or TV watching was dictated by parents. So I assimilated music and it became an integral part of my day.

Fast forwarding to today’s world when my life most times is like a finely oiled machine, listening to music has become a luxury. Why you might ask, especially in this day and age when music is accessible when ever and wherever you want on gadgets that fit in your jeans pocket. The reason is because of the state of mind. I find that most days I am like a pressure cooker, running around constantly, so much so that my mind is not relaxed enough to be receptive to music. I can listen to music without letting it touch me. But for me to absorb it and respond to it is getting harder and harder. What do I mean by responding to music? There was a concert that I went to of a Hindustani musician named Madhup Mudgal. He sang raag Surya. Though this concert was over fifteen years ago, I still remember the song and the wonderful feeling I had while listening to it. I wanted to learn Hindustani music after listening to him.
The time when I was driving to the Cochin airport after a very busy visit to India and was feeling sad (don’t remember why). The cab driver had some devotional music on and I remember the wonderful feeling of peace I was filled with.
The time when singing a song I felt like I had gone into a trance and had tears in my eyes when I was done singing.

Chinnu has intense reactions to music as well. I am learning a dance to the Tamil film song Mukunda Mukunda and I recently brought the CD home. She LOVES this song. I don’t know what she feels – she told me one day “I wish I could hear this song everyday forever and could live with the lady who sang it”. Then realizing that she lives with her parents, she said “Amma I wish you would learn this song and sing it for me every day”. Then realizing that it would not be the same if I sang it – “Amma it’s OK if you don’t learn it and sing it.” I can just imagine how it touches her tender young heart and I love that she feels so intensely when she listens to music. In this day and age when our lives are so dictated by schedules, technology, busy work and the times during which our minds are at rest and at peace is so few, our reactions to music (and any art in general) is one thing that remains individualistic and untouched by the clutter of daily life.

What is the purpose?

I am writing this because I am self-absorbed and vain. The one thing that I have always been obsessed about is the purpose of my life on this earth. After thirty five years, I am still as confused as I was when I was seventeen; wait, I stand corrected – I am more confused now. It seems that the last decade of my life has passed in fast forward mode. As I write this, I find it hard to believe that
a) I am thirty five years old (that’s serious old)
b) I have been married 10 years (holy cow how did that work out?)
c) I have two kids (I am drowning in responsibility) and
d) My career is going nowhere (that’s huge if you know me)

Anyways, as life caught up with me, my obsession about the purpose of my life grew. You see, when I was in my teens, I thought I had it all figured out: I was going to pursue a career in Science. Science was a romantic idea I had in my head – I’d figure out how the Universe worked and be this respected academic. I would marry the perfect man who would love me unconditionally. And kids – what kids? Well, as it turned out, I did immerse myself in science – I went to graduate school for six years and unraveled the structures of some exotic molecules using complicated spectroscopic instruments. Many people could not fathom why I chose this line of work that seemed too complicated to warrant any attempt at understanding what my thesis was about. And truth be told, I didn’t either. Could not fathom why I chose this line of work that is. It must have had to do with my romantic notion of pursuing physics. At some point during my under graduate days, I found physics with its concepts of strings, quarks and the theory of relativity to be too bizarre for my overworked brain and decided to abandon it for its step sister Chemistry. I could not let go of my romance with Physics completely though (who can after you’ve read the likes of The Tao of Physics, The Dancing Wu Li Masters, etc.) and decided to get a Masters in Chemistry majoring in physical chemistry. Voila, I thought, now I can have the best of both worlds - understand the universe and get a lucrative job. Anyways, I digress. I immersed myself in the pursuit of Science even after I got my Ph. D. Yes. I did post-doctoral work studying the most complicated molecule – H2O – using even fancier spectroscopy. So there’s eight years of my life spent in research. I loved every minute of it (well almost). It was great character building. I believe I honed my skills in perseverance, nagging, and toughness by fighting daily battles with the spectroscopic instruments, interpreting the spectra, and my supervisor, and my lab mates from all around the world (some of whom were obnoxious and some others smelled bad).

In the middle of graduate school, I got married. My husband swept me off my feet and was a great cook to boot. Remember my goal of marrying the man who’d love me unconditionally? I got that at least – and many times I fear I don’t deserve it. Well, all the time, I was still aiming for that phenomenal career. You see, I always associated my identity with the person I would be career wise. I never once doubted that I would be anything less than a star. Now, at some point I realized that I was getting old and was yet to become that star. I had started graduate school at the tender age of 22. When I had the Ph. D. tag, I was 28. Yikes!!! Was I almost 30? At close to 30 I realized I had an income that was just above the poverty line (in the mid-west mind you) and the thought of having a baby started creeping in one too many times. I guess that’s typical of many women – as someone I know (a man who does not have kids) told me recently, kids are another item on the list that has to be stricken off. (Needless to say, I was horrified to hear him put it that way; insensitive, completely false, how can you even say such a thing?) But deep down, maybe, just maybe, there is a tiny grain of truth to what he said. It could just be the human instinct of propagating the species that causes women to start obsessing about having babies once they reach a certain age. Anyways, I digress again. I had a chat with husband and we decided to go for it. I remember having another conversation with my mom about when I would have a baby (my not having one was never an option). I had told her that I would have one by the time I was 30 (I think I was 25 when we had this conversation and 30 seemed way past the horizon). So here I was - meager income, no real job, and desire to have a baby. The baby came first and I was desperate for a real job. All my romance with science had gone flying out the door. I wanted a job that paid well for that tag I had after my name. As it turned out, I accepted a job offer in the semiconductor equipment industry at the ripe old age of 30 and a half. It was in sunny California and marked the beginning of my foray into the fascinating world of corporate America. More to follow...