Amor! Some call her Roma! Day two.

The plan was to get up at the crack of dawn and see Roma in the early morning light. But when do things happen as planned? We slept in till 8:15 am and woke up when the sun was already shining brightly over the tiled roof tops and the innumerable domes and spires in the city.

After a breakfast of croissants, coffee, yogurt and cereal we walked towards the Roman Forum. Sean only had a few hours to explore with me before he had to go to his meeting, so we decided to visit the Capitolini. A stepped up ramp, the Cordonata, leads to a magnificent square designed by Michaelangelo, and to the oldest public museum in
the world, the Musei Capitolini. The Tabularium, which occupied the space between the temple of Jupiter on one side of the Capitolini Hill and the steps which led up past the Carcer to the Arx on the other, unfurls a stupendous view of the Roman Forum.

We took the the elevator up to the Dalla Terrazza Delle Quadrighe for a panoramic view of the tiled roof tops of the entire city of Rome on one side and the whole Roman forum on the other. The confluence of modern and ancient. I had worn a skirt up top on the terrace on a very windy morning. To prevent several Marilyn Monroe moments, I had to relinquish the camera to my esposo while I tightly held on to my billowing skirt. These are some pictures he took.

From the top of the world the tiled roofs of Rome. The Dome of the St. Peter’s can be seen.

Bird’s eye view of Foro Romano – The Roman Forum.

Sean, very unwillingly, left for work while I started walking towards my destination – the Colosseum. But this is Rome, one can’t purposefully walk towards one landmark, but simply has to make detours to do justice to the other gorgeous buldings, palazzos, chiesas (churches) strewn all across the city. I stopped to tour the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II. This huge monument by Guiseppe Sacconi was begun in 1885 and inaugurated in 1911. It honors King Victor Emanuele II who achieved unification of Italy in 1870 with Rome as the capital city. The dazzling white marble building is a sharp contrast to the warm tones of the city and looks jarring next to the ruins of the Roman forum. Although, this building is ridiculed as the Wedding Cake and Typewriter, I thought it was impressive if seen just by itself.

I walked with the crowds towards the Colosseum, smiling at the Bengali words I heard from the Bangladeshi hawkers selling their ware, the lost tourists scratching their heads while looking at the map, the excited voices and laughter of Italian teenagers, the grumpy parents trying to control the screaming toddlers because it was way past their naptime, the aggressive Italian drivers zooming past me and braking suddenly to let a clueless tourist cross the street. Most importantly, I was smiling at the blue sky and the bright, golden sun shining on my face.

When I arrived at the Colosseum, my smile disappeared. The line to get tickets was a mile long. The tour operators were luring people to skip the line and join their tour group at a steep price. I decided against waiting in line and wasting half my day, so took some outside shots of the Colosseum and went to Via Sacra (the Sacred road) flanked by pillars from the Roman era to look at the ruins of the Forum.

The ancient pillars flanking the Via Sacra, the sacred road.

Next to the Colosseum is the Arch of Constantine, built in 315 by the Senate and the Roman people three years after Constantine’s victory over his enemy Maxentius.

I walked by the Colosseum to say my goodbye as I headed back, only to find the line had shrunk. I promptly placed myself behind some Italian men and starting chatting up an American couple from upstate New York, on their first trip to Rome.

Much has been already written about gladiatorial fights, animals, prisoners of war being killed, Christian devouts being martyred. I won’t get into those. I found some interesting information on the spectator’s past time. Supposedly, the time spent by the spectators was animated and lively. The audience engaged in wide variety of occupations, gaming and betting. Games were played directly on the amphitheater steps where they created tabulae lusoriae, carving them into the stone (game boards or checker boards). The counters were made from varied matereials (bone, glass paste, pebbles, pottery). The rules of the games are not well known but tabulae lusoriae is even found on the road across the Colosseum, the Via Labicana.

The entertainment always wasn’t innocent. There was betting involved which was banned in general and only allowed on certain days like the Saturnalia, the birthday of Saturn. Saturnalia was later replaced by the festivities of Christmas. Then, as now, gifts and food were exchanged and games of chance like Bingo, were made lawful for the day.

It has also been known that players hid from officials on the steps of the amphitheater, a large number of knuckle bones were discovered on the steps of the Colosseum. There were also pictorial depictions of brawls and lovely epigraphic fund of insults. The love of the games was very common. There was no distinction of class or sex, uniting both common people and the nobility, men and women. I liked this part.

The seating was interesting and of course, predictable. The series of stepped seating areas, the cavea, highlighted the distinctions between the classes of the Roman society, in progression – from low to high – of five sections, starting with the privileged seats on the podium next to the arena, up to the wooden steps inside the colonnaded portico occupied by the plebians.

I cannot mention Colosseum without talking a little bit of blood and gore. The blood of the gladiators was sponged up and fed a thriving business. It was believed drinking human blood cured epilepsy and of course, the blood of the martyrs had healing properties.

Imagine the gladiators rushing out through these tunnels, the animals, the prisoners.

From the Colosseum, I walked back to the hotel without getting lost even once. I mention this simply because I don’t have a very good sense of direction and will never win any prizes as a map reader. Oh, and I always get lost! So when I saw the street of my hotel – it was a proud moment. A small pizzeria near my hotel was extremely crowded, thronged mainly by Italians, so I figured the pizza must be pretty authentic. Ordered a salami pizza and dealt with sweet Italian flirting by the pizzeria owner. If you want your pizza on the go, they cut the pizza up in two halves, make them into a sandwich and wrap them up for you. I took mine to the Area Sacra Di Largo Argentina (Sacred Area of Largo Argentina). This houses the remains of four temples, and is well known as well because it was used as the Senate and it was here that Julius Caeser was assassinated on March 15th, 44 BC. Now the ruins house stray cats.

The remains of a temple in Area Sacra Di Largo Argentia

Following the ‘when in Rome, act like Roman’ rule, went back to the hotel for a short siesta, and did some writing and editing pictures. Then headed out to the famous Piazza Novona for some music, artwork and people watching. It is always a lively place with musicians serenading the diners in the upscale restaurants surrounding the piazza, local artists selling their artwork, entertainers trying to entertain tourists with their acts. I sat there for a while just watching beautifully dressed men and women relaxing with drinks, dinner and cigarette. There is the beautiful Chiesa di S Agnese in Agone at one side of Piazza Novona. I went in. The architecture and frescoes were astounding but photography wasn’t allowed in there. There were some folks clicking away, but my rule follower self quickly put my camera in the camera bag to resist temptation. I sat in one of the pews instead and looked around. The common motif was suffering, agony and martyrdom in the mortal world while angels and cherubs waited with olive branches and garlands to welcome the suffering men and women to the eternal world. The ceiling was so exquisitely painted with vibrant blues and gold, I did feel a twinge of disappointment at not being able to capture it in my camera.

After a delicious dinner of crottchetta de pollo (dumpling made of rice, cheese and chicken – deep fried, of course) and this

The fluffiest strawberry cheesecake I have ever had.

I came back to the hotel to find Sean waiting for me. He succeeded in making me feel guilty about eating dinner without him, while he rushed back from work to have dinner with me, so I went out, again, to get him something to eat. We walked all the way to the Trevi fountain, bought a delicious biscuit flavored gelato (my second dessert for the night) and sat by the steps of the Trevi fountain marveling at the illuminated statue of the Ocean, which rides in a chariot drawn by two sea horses and two Tritons. I read ‘Tradition claims one coin (cast backward over the left shoulder) ensures a return to Rome, two bring love and three as wedding in the Eternal City.’ Whoever is cleaning out the fountain is making a fortune, methinks. But one is also alerted that this area is notorious for pickpockets as well.

I will end this long blog with a realization and a wonderful experience. First the realization. I realized that after a very long time, I was actually the master of my own schedule for seven whole days. I wasn’t accountable for anybody or anything. I was free of sport schedules, homework schedule, dinner, baths, disciplining et all. The whole day luxuriously stretched ahead of me to do whatever I pleased with it. This was a rare opportunity indeed and I planned to make the most of it. I was free…for seven days.

The beautiful experience was at Chiesa Santa Maria Maddalena, a church dedicated to Mary Magdalene. I left the bustling Della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon to explore the church of Maria Maddalena. I am attracted to the churches in Rome for their architecture, the ambiance, the sculptures, the ceilings and the frescoes and mosaics. This church, too, did not disappoint. It was ornate, beautiful, serene. But a mass was being celebrated. After overcoming my initial irritation at the wrong timing, I decided to sit at the last pew to wait for the mass to end. My legs were weary and my camera bag seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.

The sweet, calm voice of the priest and the musical notes of Latin did magic to my senses. The sound, completely incomprehensible, unbelievably sweet, washed over me, soothed my tired body and mind. I felt overwhelmed at my good fortune – sitting in Rome, in a beautiful church, listening to mass in Latin. I am not religious but the solemnity of the rituals of the communion moved me. There were no more than ten people in the church listening to mass yet the beauty of their faith was fascinating. The scene was surreal. I left when the mass ended, content, truly happy and without any pictures. I will go back.

Plan for day three is to pay homage to the Sistine Chapel at the Musei Vaticani. Hope the line isn’t too long.

AMOR! Some call her ROMA! Day one.

DAY 1

Rome….ephemeral, enigmatic, modern, ancient. Longfellow wrote: “Tis the centre to which all gravitates. One finds no rest elsewhere than here. There may be other cities that please us for a while, but Rome alone completely satisfies. It becomes to all a second native land by predilection, and not by accident of birth alone.” That sentiment holds true for me as well. Rome is like Janus, the two-faced ancient god of new beginnings and transitions, who looks forward while peering back. The main streets bustle with traffic and dazzle with Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbanas, yet the quiet narrow alleyways wind between warm, brick tones of houses to small piazzas, or to staircases descending to bubbling fountains.

Sean and I were headed to Rome for a week. My mother’s day/birthday gift from my husband. I left my electronic devices at home including the cell phone. Packed a notebook and lots of pens to take notes, write down streams of consciousness in the old-fashioned way.

As we started our descent to Rome after an almost nine-hour flight, I chanced to look out of the window to get a glimpse of this – the snow and cloud encrusted top of the Alps. I have rarely known such happiness at a sight.

After we disembarked the plane and cleared customs, I went looking for a ladies room along with some other women, only to discover that most of the restrooms in that particular terminal were blocked AT THE SAME TIME for cleaning. Some ladies tried to explain to the janitor in English why that may seem unreasonable to many. The janitor tried to explain to the ladies with a nonchalant shrug that he really didn’t care. One disgruntled female voice said ‘Welcome to Italy!’ We stood in a long line in front of one bathroom for the disabled to take care of our business while sharing commiserating smiles and shrugs with each other. I came back to the luggage area to find that Sean’s bag was missing along with a few others’. My joy at being in Rome started deflating a bit. Amidst utter confusion, we were told one of the conveyor belts was malfunctioning, more bags are on their way. Finally, Sean’s bag danced its way to us. All was good with the world again.

Our sweet cab driver did not speak a word of English. Sean tried his Spanish and fake Italian to give directions. It worked. We arrived at our Hotel Arenula on Via Arenula. I couldn’t be happier with its location, my favorite Pantheon was a mere seven minute walk!

After a refreshing shower and a two-hour nap, we were ready to take on Rome. I was so excited and awed at the same time to be in Rome after 10 long years I started suffering from my country mouse syndrome – stepping off curbs in the face of on coming traffic to click pictures, bumping into people and saying ‘scuzi’ a hundred times. Sean tells me he had to clutch my shirt twice to pull me out of the road while I was busy taking pictures but I don’t believe him for a minute! Before reaching the Pantheon we stopped for a bit of lunch at a small pizzeria. I had a hot dog (sorry) and Sean ordered a pizza with fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella. We shared a spinach dumpling, whose Italian name I completely forget.

Next stop was the Pantheon, which is now called Chiesa S Maria Ad Martyres. Originally, the Pantheon was a temple built by Agrippa in 27 B.C dedicated to all gods. Byzantine empire donated it to Pope Boniface IV around 608 Ad.

The mighty bronze door leads into a circular interior, which could contain 43m (142 ft) globe inside it.

The circular opening at the top of the dome.

For me, personally, the tomb of Raphael was meaningful. It is composed of a beautiful antique sarcophagus. He died in 1520 at age 37. Found an interesting information about the inscription written on the upper edge by Cardinal Pietro Bembo, poet and humanist (1470 – 1547). Supposedly, Alexander Pope translated the inscription without acknowledging the Cardinal for another epitaph.

“Living, great nature feared
he might outvie
Her works; and dying fears
herself to die.”

Piazza della Rotonda, surrounding the Pantheon is a vibrant place with restaurants, pizzerias, snack bars and gelato places. And a great place to people watch, if one is so inclined. The fountain in the center was designed in 1578 by Giacomo Della Porta and in 1711 Pope Clement XI stacked an obelisk on top which came from the temple of Isis.

Pantheon was my choice, I gave Sean the option to choose our next destination. He chose St. Peter’s Basilica. It is a long walk from the Pantheon but we were up for it. On our way, we stopped by to peer into the gorgeous Chiesa Luigi Dei Francessa. The beauty of the frescoes on the ceiling and the sculptures were completely overwhelming.

Back on our way to Basilica, we caught a glimpse of the Castel Sant’ Angelo and the Bridge of the Angels.

The Basilica, a humbling experience as always. Spent a few moments standing in front of The Pieta taking in the beauty and serenity in Mary’s face, holding her dead son in her lap.

The main alter at St. Peter’s with the sunlight streaming in.

We needed to get back to meet Sean’s colleagues for dinner at Trastevere so we did a quick, unsatisfactory tour of the Basilica and ran out. I didn’t mind since I had already planned a trip to the Basilica on my own one of the days during our stay. We rushed out but not before getting a snap of my favorite

The day ended with a lovely dinner of pasta with bacon and cream with some lovely people. Came back to the hotel to jot down notes, edit pictures and went to bed happy thinking of the six more days of exploring Rome that lay ahead of me.

The plan for Day 2 was to go to the Roman Forum, Colosseum, Church of San Clemente and Pantheon again.

Being a mom ain’t easy!

If that is not the understatement of the millennium, then I do not know what is! On top of that, it has been reiterated so many times that you have probably stopped reading at this point. Or you didn’t even click on it, thinking “There she goes with one of her original thoughts!” Wink, wink!

I am not talking about the bouts of unexplained crying, the dirty, messy diapers, the temper tantrums in the middle of a parking lot, the filching of candy bars that are within reach from the baby carriage as mommy paid for the grocery, and making mommy trudge all the way back to the store from the parking lot with a gooey, chocolaty baby to pay for the stolen Toblerone, the terrible two’s, three’s…sevens…twelves….! Not talking about explaining difficult phenomenons like God, death, angels, Santa Claus, tooth fairy, nail fairy. Yup, in our family, we TRIED to believe in nail fairy and extract money out of her when accidentally a nail fell off after the finger was caught in a door. Nail fairy didn’t pay a visit, though. Not talking about raising your eyebrows sky-high and pointing to your watch when your daughter talks on the phone for more than half an hour! None of that old stuff! Much has been said on that already.

I am talking about how I can’t be naughty when I want to be. Even when the kids aren’t around, I feel like a hypocrite if I do something that I tell them not to do. I can’t seem to turn off my over worked conscience! My mother had no such qualms. Her mantra to me was ‘Do as I say, don’t do what I do!’ Wish I had adopted that dictum instead of ‘Practice what you preach!’ Reading way too many parenting books will do that to you!

Please be under no false impression that I lead my life perfectly to set an example. Heck no! But I do stop myself from using words like ‘hate’, ‘stupid’, ‘shut up’ ‘dumb’ and others that are no-no in the house! I thank the telemarketer for calling “No, I am not interested in your scheme but thank you sooo much for calling!” instead of slamming the phone down because we are already late for some practice or other. I can’t curse if I want to (good thing I don’t want to curse often), ‘What an idiot’ being my limit! The other predicament is I can’t eat chocolates and other desserts in peace. My guilty conscience or mommy conscience stops me from pilfering and devouring a whole chocolate bar. If I manage to quieten my conscience and open the refrigerator with the intention of stealing, I encounter a bag of candies with this written on it: Mom, keep out! Quite unwillingly, I make a fair share of a chocolate bar. Couple of days ago, I felt extremely low energy. I had a lot of errands to run, grocery shopping being one of them. I decided to treat myself to a delectable chocolate mousse cake as a ‘pick me up’ for lunch. Decadent, I know. I came home feeling very naughty and indulgent. But then I couldn’t eat it. I simply couldn’t! I remembered two faces who absolutely loved dessert. I kept it in the corner of the kitchen eyeing it and ‘cursing’ myself for not buying more of those so I could have one.

Finally, I divided the cake to my two children for after school snack when they came home. Dessert is a very special treat in our house. The little faces lit up “Wowza! What got into mom today? How did we get so lucky? Dessert for snack? And we didn’t have to do a thing to earn it????”

As I said, being a mom ain’t easy, but then again, nobody said it would be! I teach them to behave well and they keep their eyes glued on me so I have to toe the line, most of the times. I guess we help each other ‘grow’!

Mamas around the world, lets raise a glass to the universal mommy hood. Here’s to TRYING our level best to raise some worthy citizens of the world and TRYING to be better humans ourselves, in the process.

There are, fortunately, books on parenting. Really helpful ones which tell us we are not doing this alone. There are others who are trying their very best. Here are some to look at:

It could have been my story…..

It could have been my story but it isn’t because of an accident – the accident of birth. I am going to write a story today. A true story that shook me to the core. This story didn’t make the newspaper but it didn’t stay within the neighborhood where it took place either, it spread word to mouth and it reached me here, in America.

Not too long ago, a young woman, who we shall call Reena, was dreaming of a happy home with a loving husband. She didn’t belong to the emergent middle class in India, she was from the lowest strata, living in a simple home in a slum in Kolkata and dreaming of a simple, but content life with the man she was about to marry. It didn’t work out as she had planned, like it often doesn’t! Her husband didn’t share her dreams and didn’t want to share his life with her either. He drove her away after a few years of marriage. The reason? Who cares about it? She is just a woman and she is absolutely replaceable.

Reena came back home broken, abused. Her family did not welcome her with open arms. Why would they? She was just another mouth to feed and their resources were meagre. She had taken her share of the family inheritance in her dowry. When she returned empty-handed, she found she had no support in anyone or in any form. She was stigmatized since she was returned by her husband. It was her shame, she must have been at fault, of course! One day, during a quarrel, her brother said her life was not worth living. She was a burden to them, she was a burden to the world. The woman was emotionally vulnerable to begin with, she broke down completely and set herself on fire to end it, once and for all.

She couldn’t finish the job that she started though. Neighbors rescued her and took her to the hospital. Instead of succumbing to her injuries, she hung on to life. Reena survived. She walked out of that hospital with a misshapen face, disfigured with horrendous scars. She withdrew within herself, hid in the house for a while, covered her face with the pallu of her sari. But for some strange reason, she rediscovered her will to live again. This experience transformed her…gave her a will to try one more time, to take a shot at life. She didn’t talk to a therapist about it, she barely had two square meals but she must have figured out what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, for she came out of her house swinging, determined to make it!

She was always a hard worker, she started looking for a job as a domestic help. But faced rejection, yet again. People didn’t want to look at a scarred face in their house doing their chores. A retired couple were divided on this issue of hiring Reena. Mrs. Basu wanted to give Reena a job on humanitarian grounds, to give her a chance at life again, while Mr. Basu feared the grandchildren, when they came to visit, will be scared by her. He was sympathetic to what life had dealt her but wasn’t ready to employ her for her deformity.

My India is shining brightly for many. We are hosting the Commonwealth games, beauty pageants, the Formula 1 car racing! It is an exciting time to be in Inda with its trendsetting fashion, booming IT industry, entertainment industry, the telecom industry. The glittering, sparkly malls, the retail therapy that my friends do to pick themselves up when they’ve had a rough day, the big decisions they make whether to buy the Prada handbag, the Jimmy Choo slippers, the latest iPhone or Mac Air. By saying this, I am not passing any judgements on anybody or trying to act holier than thou. If I didn’t dislike shopping with a passion and I had the money, who knows, I would probably do the same! We have been free from the British rule for only 65 years and look where we have come! I applaud the efforts of my country women and men. Hard work, perseverance, grit, determination, talent – a combination of all these have propelled the country forward despite the snail paced bureaucracy and corruption. But there are these pockets of darkness that we need to, yet, illuminate. Many, many good men and women are working hard to make a difference. I have had the good fortune of meeting some of them and seeing the fruits of their effort. While it is certainly encouraging, we still have a long, long way to go. So many women, urban and rural alike are underprivileged, uneducated, and are still at the mercy of societal indifference, neglect and discrimination.

I was discussing the state of women with some Indian friends, while sitting in a beautiful home, eating delicious food, when one of my friends commented that we are not in a position to criticize India. We left the country a while ago and what exactly are we doing to change the situation? We have lost the right to criticize the day we boarded the plane to leave for good. That brought me down from my lofty, all-knowing state and dashed me to harsh reality! My friend was right! It was so easy for me to criticize and point out the problems at a social gathering and then do nothing about it but just return to my comfortable home, to get a good night’s sleep. What a hypocrite!

I couldn’t do a thing to change Reena’s situation but I wanted to try. I spoke to Mr. Basu pleading with him to employ Reena for her skills and not reject her, yet again, this time for the deformity of her face. Children are sensitive, and by giving Reena a job, he can actually set a great example for his grandchildren. This is a perfect opportunity to teach his grandchildren the important lessons of giving a fellow human a chance, to teach them everybody deserves a chance, the lesson of looking deeper for beauty than what is visible to the eye, the lesson of compassion and empathy, the lesson of acceptance of others who may be different! His grandchildren will be enriched by this experience. They will learn from her that if life gives you lemon, make some lemonade. I do believe I have convinced him. I just may have a good night’s sleep tonight.

Don’t go away with the Frenchman, you said he was hot!!!

This happened a long, long time ago, maybe a life time ago! At a time when I had long, black hair, not a touch of those ‘stress related highlights’, when I was in a perpetual sense of wonderment of all the things around me, I was easily amazed, easily happy, when I went places, I actually took the sights and sounds in instead of looking around constantly to see if my kids are within my eyesight, when my thoughts didn’t wander from one schedule to the next, my face didn’t sport the worry lines, it easily broke into a smile, when I thought, felt, experienced! Wow, MUST have been a long time ago. Now that we have established the time frame, on to the main story.

I was very new to Baltimore and I was going with Sean to see Washington D.C for the first time! I had read about Washington D.C, heard stories about it, regarded it with awe! Powerful, make or break decisions were made in the cavernous insides of the beautiful buildings there. Not just of USA, but sometimes the fate of other countries are decided there. Since my blogs are apolitical, we will not get into the merit of those decisions but will leave the readers to make their choice. But I digress.

Sean drove into Washington and quickly ditched me. He had an all day meeting, he brought me along to do the sight-seeing solo. We planned to meet at a place after his meeting to grab a bite. I wasn’t unhappy about being on my own, though. It was a gorgeous day, the green of the mall stretched before me, the reflecting pool reflected the breathtakingly beautiful buildings spread around the mall. I sat on a bench to just take in the beautiful scene when a young man sat next to me and smiled. Since I am very social (read talker), I smiled back and said hello. It turned out he was from France, traveling alone, first time in Washington D.C, and overwhelmed. His English was slightly better than my French, but we hit it off. I should mention here that my sweet husband once told me to walk a few steps behind him in Champs de Elysee, Paris, when, in my usual state of wide-eyed innocence, I said at the top of my voice, ‘Sean, this is the famous Champs (ch sounding like CHocolate) de (sounding like DElhi) elysee (el-i-see)! Sean turned to me with a sombre face and said in a quiet voice, ‘You need to walk a few paces behind me because I don’t know you!’ This must have been a terrible faux pas, since he didn’t say that when I didn’t recognize Sting in Varanasi! But then, he is a little snooty about his French and Spanish!

All this was to make it clear that my French is terrible….ok, non-existent. The Frenchman could speak English, barely. But we decided to tour Washington D.C together. We did the usual touristy stuff, went up to the Washington monument, Jefferson memorial, Lincoln memorial, et all. I helped him out in ticket counters, took pictures of him with his camera, he took pictures of me with my camera, had lunch. It was fun to discover a new city with a new friend. At the end of the day we parted ways without exchanging numbers or promises to stay in touch. We both knew that this was where our camaraderie ended.

I met Sean at the appointed time (I am pretty sure he was late, he always is) and gushed about what a wonderful day I had with a friend.

‘How awesome! You met an old friend here?’ he asked.

‘No, I made a new one!’ I told him about my new friend.

My husband is not the jealous type at all but till date, 14 years later, he sometimes jokingly talks about my ‘going out with the Frenchman’! We have shared many a laugh over it and my kids have been told the story as well. No prizes for guessing who told them the story, though.

Anyway, Sean and I are planning to go to Rome for a week. He has a meeting, I am tagging along to revisit one of my absolute favorite cities. The kids are being left with the grandparents. Predictably, the preteen girl is ecstatic about this unexpected freedom from parental watchfulness. She is arranging rides for her innumerable student council meetings, birthday parties, and other social activities. I am just standing by the side line watching her manage her social life and her rides with such ease. She truly is on her way to growing up!!! But the little guy is not super happy about the prospect of both parents leaving for a week. He is split between looking forward to being pampered rotten by the grandparents and missing mom and dad. So he is trying everything in his power to make us review our decision to go. Last night, the dinner table conversation went like this:

“Dad, you really shouldn’t take mom with you!” he said.

“Why Ryan? You will have so much fun with Didiya and Dadai!” Sean said.

“Yes, I know. But Dad, what if mom finds a Frenchman when you are in a meeting?”

I had to interject, “What Frenchman, Ryan? Why would I find a Frenchman? What are you talking about???”

“Just like you found a Frenchman in Washington D.C when dad was in a meeting. And you said he was hot!” he points out.

Sean burst out laughing while I glared daggers at him.

“I didn’t say he was hot, I don’t even remember how he looked!” I try (its the truth)!

“Yes, you did! Yes, you did! You said he was hot! Dad, don’t take mom to Rome, don’t take her!”

Katy Perry, Drake, LMFAO, and other singers of the ilk, you are banned from my radio stations. Why does a seven-year old talk about ‘hot’??? Oh wait, he does have an almost thirteen year old sister!

Mom, please behave so daddy doesn’t divorce you!!!

Ryan’s first grade class seems to be a hotbed for romance lately! Wonder what it is? Spring? Anyway, we are getting loads of information at dinner table on crushes, love, couples and singles. And I plan to enlighten you on all those topics. So here goes.

Crushes are ‘when you are in love with somebody but that person doesn’t know about it.

Love is when both parties know that they love each other.

Mommy and daddy are a couple whereas Sahana and Ryan are still single, but when they grow up they will find someone and become couples.

And lately, we have been talking about divorces….a lot. One of Ryan’s friend’s parents got divorced recently, and the friend has to move out-of-state with one of the parents. This incident has hit my boy….. hard. He has started asking me, often, if his dad and I plan to divorce in the near future. If so, what will happen to him and Sahana!

I share a wonderful relationship with my spouse, we hardly have disagreements except when we are rooting for our football teams. At that point, all bets are off. Its war! But, other than that, I never disagree with him provided he always agrees with me:)! Fortunately, we seem to share a lot of similar ideas on different issues that are important to us and there is hardly a discord that doesn’t get solved with a little bit of ‘talking it out!’ Hence, I was baffled by Ryan’s insecurity. Interestingly enough, he always asks ME not to disagree with dad, so dad doesn’t leave us.

A couple of nights ago, I decided to take them for a treat at a frozen yogurt place. Sean was not too much in favor of the adventure since it was late and they had whined a bit. But I had promised them earlier, so I decided to take them anyway. Ryan was stressed the entire car ride. I could tell he wasn’t enjoying himself. Finally, he asked me, “Mom,
do you think Dad will divorce you now, that you took us out when he didn’t want you to?” If I wasn’t driving, I would have wrapped him in my arms and kissed his fears away.

So I did the next best thing, we talked about it. I told him sometimes grown ups don’t get along, they decide to go their separate ways, but they always love their children. That never goes away. And it is never the children’s fault that parents divorce. The grown ups sometimes feel they need to live separately to be happy. But his daddy and I get along just fine and we will not get divorced.

Just out of curiosity, I wanted to know why he always thought daddy will go away since sometimes moms make that decision too. He pondered upon it for a while and said “You are nice!” I knew he couldn’t express his feelings since Sean, for him, is definitely the preferred parent. Sahana summed it up for him. She said, “I think daddy travels a lot, we don’t get to see him much, but you are always with us, you do everything for us, so we can’t see you just leaving us and going away. But since daddy is away a lot, it is easier for us to think dad can leave!”

When we stopped at the yogurt place, Ryan got out of the car, still somber and thoughtful and said, “If you guys do get divorced, I will go with whoever will take me!” My heart just about broke. I got a glimpse into the mind of a child who may be in the middle of a divorce or a custody battle. What torment that young mind goes through – the insecurity, fear, guilt, incomprehension of the grown up world.

I try my best not to trivialize their fears or mortifications. Although they sometimes seem meaningless in our adult world, they are very real in their world! I try to address the fears and try to find an answer (operative word here being TRY)! We do the usual catching the nightmares in a box and emptying it outside, opening closet doors and checking under beds to make sure no errant monster is lurking. When all fails, we sing praises of the monsters and talk about how adorable they are. Who doesn’t love Elmo and Grover? So I dealt with this fear the usual way – talked, reassured! Unfortunately, the fear of monsters are slowly but steadily giving way to fears of more tangible things in life, like poverty, divorces, animal cruelty, abuse, and finally, the huge mystery of death. Ryan is slowly becoming cognizant of the fact that there is a lot of sadness juxtaposed with the happiness in this world. In life, there are a lot of uncertainties, lot of insecurities. He is looking around him and he is not seeing a bed of roses. This loss of innocence is inevitable, I know. I cannot save him from this, probably shouldn’t try to either. But what I can and will do is assure him that his dad and I will try our best to be anchors in his life, TRY our best to keep the real sadness at bay for him. We will do everything in our power to give him a rose garden, but still there will be those occasional thorns in his path. We will hold his hand and help him bypass those, on his way to the grown up world, till he himself is ready to let go of our fingers.

Just a housewife…

I always bite the end of my pen before writing down my occupation in a form. Once, while standing in the immigration line to enter United States, I wrote my occupation as ‘Homemaker’! The young officer squinted at my form and asked, ‘So you are just a housewife?’ It is probably politically incorrect to put the word ‘just’ in front of housewife, as he immediately cracked a smile, an embarrassed one and said, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to say just a house wife. I meant do you stay at home?’ It broke the ice, he was nicer to us, having made the faux pas, and we moved along.

For a while, I used to write ‘house wife’, but I find that word nonsensical. What the heck does that mean? Then I wrote home maker, instead. But that made me feel guilty because apart from cooking, my ‘home making’ skills are quite limited. Now I write ‘mother’. Now that is a real job, which includes yet is not limited to being a chef, chauffeur, maid, educator, counselor, confidante, disciplinarian, entertainer – did I leave anything out, fellow mothers? Oh yes, it also includes listening to endless jokes with absolutely no punchline whatsoever and laughing along just to see the joy in those faces! But I still get flustered when people ask me, ‘Now that Ryan is in full day school, what are your plans? What are you doing these days?’

I am doing plenty. But are they worthy enough to enumerate? Cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, running errands, laundering and most importantly, I am making myself available to get my kids off the bus and asking that important question, ‘How was school today, guys?’ And then lending a patient ear!

I am always at a loss for an answer. ‘Er, not much really, doing some volunteering but that’s about it!’ I always say I am volunteering at the library or at the schools, never do I mention, I washed the kitchen floor, I cleaned two toilets, I made a four course Indian meal and then did the dishes, got the homework done and here I am sitting at the children’s sporting activity but what I really want to do is curl in my bed with a good book. But having said all that, I realize my counter parts, the working mothers or fathers are doing all that I am doing AND going to their jobs. Working parents, you truly are my heroes!

I asked my wise friend, Wendy the other day what should an appropriate response be to this line of questioning. She keeps me grounded when I suffer from my ‘home maker’ angst from time to time and lends an ear to my gripes. She said ‘Tell them you are investing in your family!’ That sounded important and professional, I am totally going with it!

I thought of ending the blog there till a dear friend threw a wrench in my plan, or rather my thoughts on stay at home parents. He said when he has children he would continue to work and he wishes his partner would choose to do so too, at least part-time. His reason being that staying at home may not necessarily keep people sharp and on the edge. It can hinder personal growth. That idea got me in a tizzy. What is happening to me then? Am I not reaching my potential by being ‘just’ a mother, baking, cleaning, cooking? After thinking about it a whole lot, I finally decided, I don’t agree with this point of view. I may not be sharpening my business management skills, or my software engineering skills (which, by the way, I don’t have folks), I may not be very useful in the corporate world right now, but I am indeed polishing the skills that are equally important – to me and my young family. I am sharpening my skills to stay one step ahead of two young, bright minds, (and let me tell you, that is no mean task), I am practising empathy and selflessness, which I consider my personal growth. I am meeting intelligent, wonderful fellow mothers who chose to give up their successful careers to devote their time to their children. I am constantly growing, learning and evolving. People, busy in the corporate world, may not rate my skills very high and our materialistic world won’t put any value on them. I am fine with that.

After all, ‘reaching one’s potential’ is so relative!

Play ball, girl!

I was standing in the short- stop position on a beautiful, starlit night in Delhi at a woman’s softball game at the American club. I had my glove on, grit and determination written all over my face, crouched, ready position just like our coach said. I was ready to pounce on the ball if it came my way. And for those who may not be aware of the importance of the short- stop field position, let me clarify that it is a very important position to field at, and generally the best athlete on the team gets to play at that place…. just saying:)! I guess, I also should admit, we ALL had to play ALL positions during the game.

Sean got me into softball primarily to stop a nagging wife from grumbling that he was spending way too much time playing sports. He has this terrific ability of making me feel like I am making all the decisions but when I take a moment to reflect on things, I figure out, I am doing exactly what HE wanted me to do all along. I am sure he will give you lessons on this if you want any! Works out great for him! So he decided to entice me into joining the women’s softball team in the American Club in New Delhi. I am moderately athletic, I had given birth six weeks ago and was carrying a substantial amount of baby weight which I was desperate to lose. I gave in.

Having played some and watched a lot of cricket growing up, I thought, how difficult could softball be. I thought wrong. The bat is a stick, not a paddle, you hold it up over your shoulder at a precarious position, and you swing as the ball comes your way. You miss mostly, and swing around. Not you! You may be fantastic at it, its me! I used to swing at air and go around 360 degrees before coming to a stop. Hilarious really.

We practised a lot. The coach was very patient with me and helped me learn the nuances of the game. Since I was somewhat athletic, I got the hang of it pretty quickly. I played an inning, came out to nurse six weeks old Sahana, handed the baby back to Sean and ran back in the field to play. People saw me and exclaimed ‘This is what women playing ball is all about!’

On this particular night, I was pumped. The field was green and beautiful, the overhead lights transformed the night into day, we had a decent amount of beer guzzling crowd cheering us on. I had a good feeling we were on to something. The best batter of the enemies sauntered in to bat. The captain yelled, ‘She is a hitter! Take a step back all!’ We backed up some. I relaxed a bit, since I knew the batter would hit it either out of the ball park or hit it so hard, the outfielders would be scampering after the ball. This one would be an outfielder’s problem. We, in fielders, were safe! I desperately wanted to gaze at the dandelions growing nearby, but decided against it so as not to get hit by the ball!

The pitcher looked around, saw us in our uncomfortable, crouching, ready position and pitched her first pitch. Ball! For the non softball lovers, that is a bad pitch. She got ready and pitched her second. And the batter let it rip. At the resounding crack of the ball hitting the bat, I moved mainly out of instinct. There was a loud roar from the spectators. I was frantically looking around me running hither and thither looking for the ball, till my team mates ran towards me with joyful faces. What the heck? Why were they zeroing in on me instead of fielding the ball, the batter must be running all four bases now and scoring. The women started thumping my back congratulating me while I screamed, ‘What is going on??? Where is the ball!!!’ A few seconds of silence, before the captain lifted my gloved hand, and showed me the softball safely nestled in my glove! I had caught the ball and got the batter out, and I had no clue! I looked up to see the batter walking back to the dugout. Instead of feeling the joy, I felt like an idiot!

The next bit, I heard from my husband, who almost threw the baby up in the air, when I instinctively made that awesome catch…. without my knowledge! When I picked up the ball, a couple of beer drinking men shouted, ‘Did she f***ing make that catch!!! That is unbelievable! Wow!’ Then, when they saw me looking around frantically for the ball, having no idea that it was in my glove, they said, ‘What is she doing?’ At this point, Sean’s jubilation at having such an athletic wife, albeit clueless was dying down a bit. He turned to the men and said, ‘She doesn’t know she has the ball!’

‘Huh? How do you know?’ They asked, obviously puzzled.

‘I know…. she is my wife!’ My loving husband responded!

It takes a village…

I can see the word cliché flashing in your head as you read the title of this post, but I promise you I have a new thought this time. Just hear me out, it is momentous – me having a new thought, that is! And I promise not to beat around the bush but get to it….soon.

My children are deprived of the love and indulgence of their grandparents and extended family. Having grown up with a doting grandfather who I bossed around as a child, I feel my kids are missing out on a huge part of childhood joy. On Grandparent’s Day at school, Sahana and Ryan are generally ‘adopted’ by a friend’s grandparent for the day. It breaks my heart. At sporting events, grandparents of teammates cheer for my two. I miss my parents and my in-laws at these, they too miss out on so much! Skype and other social media have certainly made the world smaller but it is still not the same as getting a kiss from your Grammy or Didya. Living so far away from family is never fun! While rocking a screaming baby and reading to a demanding five-year old, I often wallowed in self-pity. Where were those extra pairs of hands I needed so badly? Why are my kids growing up without the cuddles of grandparents and all those uncles and aunties far away in India! So unfair that I have to raise them alone with the occasional help of my traveling spouse! Doesn’t it take a village? The discipline of us parents needs to be balanced by the indulgent love that the grandparents shower over the little ones. The grandparents get to enjoy the young ones yet don’t have to bear the responsibility of raising them, in most cases. Win win for all! Or is it?

A friend married into a family where the mother-in-law wanted to have a major part in her child rearing technique. If my friend took away the privilege of dessert from her son for bad behavior, the grand mother took the child behind the couch or table, and gave the dessert in stealth, with a warning not to let the mother hear about it. This is just one occasion of many when the parent’s authority is undermined by the extended family, sometimes blatantly and sometimes behind the back, and often times in my country, India, the parents bite their tongue and stay quiet to prevent family discord.

But this is a new age of parenting amongst the middle class world
wide. Parents are becoming more aware of the effectiveness of good parenting, they are hitting books, taking counsel. Often times,they disagree with the method the earlier generation used for child rearing which involved corporeal punishment and also giving in to unreasonable demands. Authoritarian parenting versus more democratic way of parenting that many practice now. The children were seen, not heard a generation earlier. Now the children are not only seen and heard, but they are the center of the parents’ universe around whom their lives revolve.

The older generation, often times, disagree with modern parenting. My parents never utter a single word in front of my children when I am disciplining them, but out of their earshot? Oh, watch out! They make it very clear, I am too harsh and I shouldn’t have taken away privileges for not putting away toys even after the umpteenth reminder. ‘They are only children, they will learn!’ Learn how? If I always pick up after them, I don’t see them learning anything! They need to know that action or inaction in this particular case, has consequences. Anyway, I am very grateful, they don’t undermine my parenting but many are not as lucky as I. I have heard stories of how the mother or the mother in law reprimand the parent, in front of the child, for disciplining him or her. What kind of mixed message is the child getting in that case? The child is the real sufferer here since this is what she understands,’I can make a bad choice, if my mom and dad scold me, grandma or grandpa will scold my parents so my parents don’t have the ultimate authority over me anyway! So why should I obey them?’

I live far away from both sets of the family, and I certainly miss the love and affection my children are deprived of. But I am envied by my Indian counter parts that nobody interferes with my way of dealing with bad behavior. Over the years I have made it very clear to my immediate and extended family that what I say to my children is the final word, nobody can override my decision. But that doesn’t mean I am not berated for being too harsh or tough, but that is all said in love and away from the children’s ears! I can take it! The uncles, aunts and grandparents are such an integral part of children’s life and they provide a such a fantastic sounding board to air out the grievances against those mean parents!

So here’s my two cents, finally! Where is the drumroll? I think, while it takes a village to love and nurture a child, the discipline shouldn’t be left to the village to handle. The village Elders, a.k.a parents should be given the SOLE responsibility of that department. What the Elders decide for the child should be followed by the villagers. Ye or Nay, what say, all?

‘You are such a mountain goat!’ My husband’s idea of romance!

Sean has been talking about taking the family hiking on the Old Rag mountains for a few months now, and I, of course, have been stalling. It’s not that I don’t like hiking, I love it, but on the plain surface, by a beautiful river or through the woods. Not any more labor intensive than that! But spring break came around and this guy went berserk on me. Things got so bad that he would dream of Old Rag and scream ‘Old Rag Mountain, here we come’ in his dreams. No, that didn’t happen, I am exaggerating a bit!

Anyway, he started talking more and more about it, he got the kids riled up, it was 3 against one. I gave in. The enthusiasm was slightly scary. I asked him if he planned to take me up and push me off a cliff to collect the insurance. He denied, he said he had no such plans. I was safe…for the moment. He played his trump card, ‘Think of all the pictures you will get from up top!’ I was sold.

I showed my utter indifference to the whole process by not making sandwiches or packing any snack. That was not just laziness, I was making a point. He didn’t mind or take heed, he made everything himself. He just dragged me off the bed at 4:00 am and we were off!

Once we arrived and saw the sun rising, I grudgingly admitted it was a good idea, after all. But I was still very concerned about my physical ability to make the climb – 3291 feet elevation, of which, one mile was pure boulder hopping.

I did just fine and enjoyed myself immensely. In his excitement, that his plan was successful and the wife was actually having a good time, Sean gushed, “Kids, who knew your mom was such a mountain goat, huh?” I was panting hard the first time so I let the comment slide. But after a particularly difficult phase of rock climbing, he said it again, “My mountain goat of a wife!” Then I let him have it! I told him, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t think calling his wife a ‘mountain goat’ will earn him any brownie points. In fact, that is not romantic at all, he could call me nimble-footed, fit, athletic…something along that line. But mountain goat is the limit. Can’t take it! I will dream of myself sprouting four legs, two cute horns, a beard and jumping around mountains. Ughh! Shudder! He back tracked quickly and said things like, “You always under-estimate your ability. See, this was a piece of cake for you. You are in awesome shape!” etc etc. That mollified me a bit. We walked a total of 8 miles round trip. And labeled my two children as the toughest cookies ever.