Never say Never

When I stopped writing a few years ago, I made a pact with myself that I was no longer naive enough to think that putting words into paper (err... keyboard) would make me feel better about everything that happened around me. But here I am, prodigal child to the written word, with hopes and naivety intact.

If Life were a person, I absolutely KNOW what she's like. (Oh yeah! Its a She - no doubts about it)

Life .....

.... She's a no-nonsense friend. She doesn't give me a shoulder to cry on, or a moment to pity myself. She ensures I am enveloped by so many actionables in my routine, that I barely remember whether I am coming or going!

.... She's not a conversationalist. She demands intuitive action, sometimes making me do stupid things. Things that she ensures, teaches me something I hadn't known earlier.

.... She doesn't like excuses - I have tried and failed miserably when trying to get her to see why I shouldn't have lost that last round of  the game. She scoffs and scowls when I begin to stammer a reason for my failure

..... Nor is she a fan of my pride. She doesn't skip a beat to remind me who's ACTUALLY in-charge! God forbid, I have a moment when I am just a wee bit full of myself!

..... She does, however, employ services of her good friend Serendipity, when I am stuck in a corner sometimes. But not before I have tried every trick, bruised every muscle, used every ounce of my resources.

.... She uses her imaginative side, when she decides who to put in my path - from acquaintances who become support systems, to guest appearances who become inspirations, she directs this soap opera I call my life.

.... Funnily, she doesn't claim to be my friend. Nor my well wisher. She doesn't ask permission before she turns my world upside down. But she gives me love, strength and purpose - so I can sort my world all over again.

Hey Life! Guess what?

I may not know your scheme of things. I may stumble clumsily at every new turn. But I am learning to trust your instincts now. Thank you for being on my side, even when you're not.

Silver Lining

Ever have those days when you feel the walls are closing in on you? When you arrive at the point where you feel everything you do, anything you do, is futile; that the world is still a cruel, sad place to be living in? That all your endeavors as a parent may just not work out?

Well, I did have a day like that. A day when I wondered if anything we did as parents was enough to make good people out of these little projects we have called children.

Why do I call them projects? Well, because they ARE - they live with us, they thrive on what we give out to them, but they don't BELONG to us. They are handed over to us by providence, or nature, or God (if you aren't an atheist) to nurture and place, when they are ready, into the world - much like a project.

Anyway, going back to the realization that we have so little control when it comes to raising them; how do we actually know that we are on the right track? Well, we don't know it. We can only take subtle hints thrown in by the great Sensei (yes, am a Karate Kid fan) called life.

We must be in the right direction if we see signs like these right?

• Kiddo aged seven, in all earnestness, wants to bring home every stray dog he can find. Though he was crestfallen when we told him dogs do not like to be kept indoors in his room, he decided he was going to feed them every chance he got.
• His elder sister, all of 11, wants to donate her books to a kid who cannot go to school. We have gone to great lengths to un-label, put in fresh covers and re-label her old books to give them out - all at her insistence.
• When the adults in the house (that translates as me and hubby) fight over things that matter little to them, the brother-sister duo spare no words to let us choose between being "sent to the Principal" or "shake hands and be friends again". 
• They call up their grandparents to tell them how much they loved the biryani they ate at their place. (And then promptly proceed to tell them embarrassing truths of my home!)
• Little fellow comes home from cricket match one day singing "Chikni Chameliiiiiii, Chup ke akeliiiiiiii, Kowa chadhake Ayi"  When we explained to him that the song was not really about a pet crow (Kowa) - and that kids don't actually sing these songs, he promptly replaced the song with "Jungle jungle baat chali hai......." (You know the rest!)
• Little one propped his pudgy little hand on my cheek and asked me how mosquitoes knew the blood group of the people they were drinking blood from. (we had just filled out his medical form where we had filled out his blood group as well)
• 11 year old wears a dress, but looks at the mirror, and decides she looks fat. However, she changes her mind when the little fellow looks at her closely, and gives her the best compliment she has ever got - "You can sit with me in the birthday party." 
• After a PTM meeting (let me assure you, its more stressful than business meetings) that went particularly well, little one asks, "Mom, are you inpred with me?" (that is 'impressed' in baby talk)
• Elder one comes home one evening upset that a friend spread lies about her in school. So when I asked her what she wanted to do, she said she would ask her friend about it. Because, "she is my 'bestest' friend!"
• On another occasion, when she found out that our domestic help could not understand English, she was distressed and started tutoring her. Watching the elder sister tutoring, the little one promptly brings out his crayons, and declares to the bewildered woman, "Now I will teach you coloring!"

Amidst laughter and tears I realize how maybe, just maybe, we are doing it right!

copyright @Pinterest

a letter to my Crush

In an attempt (a tad rebellious maybe) to be honest to the only thing that screams "THE REAL ME" - my blog, I continue to write truthful letters. This is the second one

Dear Complicated,

I know of no other name by which to call you, as you had always complicated my thoughts. I write this letter so that I may finally, honestly, claim that I told you how I feel - even if I am relieved by the fact that you may never read this letter, or the fact that you may read it, but never know that its you I am talking about. See? I told you it was complicated.

The first time I saw you, I wanted to see you closer - maybe look into those eyes that were so intriguing. Of course, the stuttering fool in me ensured I could not speak even a few decent lines in your presence. Yes, you were intimidating - and I don't say this only as someone who had my heart on my sleeve - you seemed to have that effect on many people!

We spoke - many times, as our paths crossed often. I guess I noticed every movement, every glance, every syllable from your mouth. I had played it over and over in my head  - in slow motion, wondering each time whether you meant something when you said random words, or passed amused glances my way.

You were tall - tall enough that I could spot you in an crowd. I could recognize the sound of your voice, your laughter - and your bike from a distance. I knew all your best friends, and even became friends with them. But you? You I could not befriend - maybe because I was such a klutz around you, or maybe because you already knew how I felt and didn't feel the same way.

I have moved on - life has that to its credit - I found my love, my happiness and where I belong. But you, my dear Complicated, will always make me dreamy-eyed and weak-kneed.

Love,

The one who chickened out.

A letter to my best friend

Before I begin this post, I want to report what happened to me for the last few months. I was abducted by aliens, who tried to test my IQ levels by attaching wires to my head. They then discovered that there was actually nothing they could find, so released me. I think they are a happy lot now, since they think all humans have the same level of intelligence that they found in me.

Well, that really didn't come out the way it should have, but what the hell! I have decided I am going to write a few posts without editing it in my head. So anyone who is still out there reading this, go ahead at your own risk!

I have been inspired to take on a challenge from a blog I have been reading in my sabbatical.... errr..... alien abduction. Shail's blog has been one of the blogs I have been hooked to for a long time. And maybe, this challenge might help me kick my butt to write a little more often.

So, about this challenge - its aptly called a 30 day letter challenge, where we write letters (Yes, those things we wrote - not typed - to people who stayed far away, or people who we couldn't talk to in person. Case in point - the smuggled in love letters). And the first of these letters are to a best friend - so here goes!

Dear B.F.F. (that's what they call you these days, I am told),

Till a time in my life, when asked to name a best friend, I would have rattled off a string of names still leaving me thinking that I'd left out a few. Those were good times - when the biggest worry one had was that a notebook had been misplaced, or that lunch time was still two classes away! But these times didn't last, and along came what they called the young adult ( the 'adult' bit being debatable) phase - where we made world shattering discoveries and mind numbing decisions. But the good thing was that this phase also brought you along with it.

We've all heard of love at first sight, haven't we? But is there something called friendship at first sight? Because only that could explain the phenomenon we had. First time we spoke, we knew this was way more than pleasantries, or even just hostel room-mates. We had what could be called chemistry - one that was explosive and soothing at the same time. Well okay... explosive for everyone around us and soothing for us when we got in trouble together.

There were fights, weren't there? Little ones that made us miserable and big ones that made us take irrational stands. But when it came to standing up for me, you had done it - whether  I was right or wrong. You walked with me, when it was against every shred of survival to do so. You fought with me to stop me from making decisions obviously clouded by love, hatred, foolishness or alcohol. And when I eventually did do what I wanted to, you stood there to pick me up and dust me off to face another day.

Life may have taken us on strikingly parallel paths today, with so similarity, yet so much geography between us. But the most wonderful thing about you and me is just that - it doesn't really matter how far away you are - you are always the first one I think of calling when I have a secret to share. I can only hope that I have been as giving as you are, in this crazy journey we call life.

P.S. You know we should have just run away together!! :-)

Your crazy friend

Of Broken Hearts and Bonds

A young friend got his heart broken recently. Crushed to smithereens when a long time relationship did not work out. Of course, as friends, we all worry for him, and we all hope he comes out of this unscathed. This is not the only time I have seen a close friend go through a phase in life when all that matters is what they lost.

This young man is almost family for me and he is about a decade ahead of my son. My son and daughter hopefully have a long time before they ever go through something like this, but I can't help penning down my thoughts for them - whenever they are old enough to understand this! So here goes - for you, 'N' - and for my little Gs.

Dear little Gs (I know you aren't little any more),

Firstly, I know you keep thinking I am ancient and all that. Well, unfortunately, that's true - you and I, we are separated by a couple of decades. But maybe, just maybe, I may remember all that it felt to be your age.

You, my dear, are precious to me; and to many people who know you intimately. For us, you have a million wonderful qualities and a few flaws which somehow, make you more endearing to all of us.

Just thinking of you brings a smile to my face, and I find myself thanking providence for having conspired to bring you into my life. (ok..... I may have said otherwise at times, but you both KNOW how exasperating you two can get) Believe me when I say that I am proud of what you have turned out to be, of what you have achieved and of what you will achieve in your life.

What you feel today, is not something that I could take away, even if I tried. You might feel dejected, unsure and disinterested. You might also doubt the very existence of that elusive find called love. You may have a few bouts of I-just-want-to-sleep-out-this-nightmare phases, or a few days when you just don't want to see anyone smiling in this world.

But what if I told you that even if I could, I would not want to protect you from this hurt? What if I told you that this, my dear, is part of who will become in the future? Don't get me wrong - it pains me no end to think that you may be shedding angry tears, or may be working too much to fend off the pain.

But let me tell you what my heartbreak had taught me. It taught me that no incident is stronger than my own will to rise above it - as you too, will soon discover for yourself.

It taught me that trying to find my happiness in someone else is possible only if I am happy with myself.

It taught me that the strongest bonds in this world are the ones that you don't have to labor at. The bonds that seem to last a lifetime are not the ones that try to shape you into someone else - these are the relationships that accept you the way you are, but help you evolve into a secure, confident and truthful young man or woman.

But more than anything, it taught me that in the darkest, deepest hour, I have relationships that don't attach conditions to its existence - unconditional bonds that help me steer into actions or decisions that made me a better person.

Lastly, do not be scared to put your heart out there again, and yet again, my dears. For love, no matter how elusive, does find the heart that thrives on it. Oh, and while you are at it, do remember to laugh along through any opportunity that you may find - you wrinkle much slower that way :-) .

Exams for Mommy - Condition Serious Hai!

Exams - the stuff that nightmares are made of, nights that you resented Dad yanking the cable connection off, or the cold winter mornings when Mom just pulled the snug blanket off to get you up before sunrise to do that dreaded thing called 'revision'.

Suddenly, the "seriousness" quotient of the whole world would climb up a few notches. Parents, grandparents, neighbors, the electricity board  (remember how the power cuts would happen right when you were ready to start peeling open the books?) and even the neighborhood stray dogs, would wear a glum, serious air about themselves.



Once past the mandated post graduation, I thought I had left behind those dreaded days. Well, think again. Exams have come back with a vengeance, and how!

No, I have NOT lost my mind, nor decided to shock my unassuming spouse and do my PHD. I am merely taking you through yet another agonizing phase of parenthood - one that no one warned me about! I am talking of karma coming to bite you in the derriere...... the kiddos' exams!

Even worse are the situations where you end up meeting other parents who are battling the same woes as you are. Some familiar situations during the exam season, where you wish people would take a heavy dose of anti-seriousness medications :

Scenario 1 :
Occasion : PTM meet (for those who still haven't been hit by the asteroid called parenthood, PTM means Parent - Teacher Meeting)
Teacher with a no-nonsense look and a dreadful looking pile of answer sheets in front of her. You know that one of those red-tinged white sheets is filled with your child's endearing but utterly stupid answers. Sweaty palms and silly smile, you approach her, looking and feeling every bit the guilty parent you are. After all, your child did score a few marks less than she did last year! You make an immediate pact with yourself to start spending more time on the child's studies from now on; if only the teacher let you off the hook this time. Instantly, you are transported two decades back in time, where you sat cringing in front of your teacher.

The cringing gives way to stammered responses when the teacher gives one disapproving glance at you. "Errr.... Ma'am, no I haven't actually made a time table for the kiddo at home, but I do ensure that he eats, sleeps, plays and studies regularly..... No Ma'am, I meant "play"... as in when the kid runs around with other kids and laughs hysterically when he falls and scrapes his knee? Not heard of it?"
 

Scenario 2 :
Occasion : Some much needed retail therapy
You are shopping with a vengeance, trying to get some of the exam depression out of your veins, when you spot a fellow parent, wrought with the same nightmares as you. The only difference - her child is the class topper. Needless to say,  you try to blend in with the surroundings, using the tiny mannequin to hide your enviable frame. But with the kind of luck you've been having these days, the super-mom decides to check out that very mannequin, bumping into you.

Ofcourse, the only think she wants to talk about is the exam syllabus and the woes of losing that one mark.You haven't heard half of what she is rambling about, and suddenly panic sets in as you remember your kid is in the same class! Panic converts into full fledged hyperventilation when you discover that said parent knows the exact page number of every question that has been asked since Man discovered fire!

Makes one wonder, doesn't it? We have managed to take the joy of learning and discovery, and convert it into a competitive sport that everyone dreads. Not just education, we do it with everything that crosses our path. Don't believe me? Lets see.....

Kiddo loves dancing?  Well, just enroll him into a dancing school, put him through  grueling schedules just so he can go participate in a competition. Kid good in sports? Well, lets just step in and take away the joy of playing and get her to worry about competing.

See the pattern here? This is the scary pattern of the very contagious disease called #ConditionSeriousHai
which can only be cured by regular doses of laughter, friends and tasty treats.

This is a post that has been written for the contest by indiblogger and Cadbury 5 star for the #ConditionSeriousHai contest.

Rituals of Life

Life takes a full circle, and comes back with a lesson or two…

This profound truth found its way into my conscience when I started insisting on certain rituals during the course of the day with my children. When I was growing up, my relationship with these seemingly silly rituals enforced by my mother, ranged from gleeful giggles when very young, to rebellious questions when older.

The rituals my mother enforced on us, and the ones I speak of here, are not rituals that are written down in religious scriptures. They are simple, day-to-day activities made closer to the heart, so that we carry comforting memories of it through the trying times in our lives.

For example, we have a “Greeting rule” at home – both when we wake up and when we go to bed. No matter what – whether you are tired, or angry, or have had a fight with one another, the rule stays. Sometimes, it is this simple “Good Morning” or “Good Night” that chips away the differences, and brings the siblings closer to each other.

Another rule enforced rather strictly at home, is the “Hug before you leave” rule. As the name implies, we have hurried hugs, even if the school bus is honking angrily at the gate. Needless to say, the kids run smiling into the bus, even though the early morning routine may not have been entirely to their liking.

Choosing their bed-covers every time it’s time to change them, is another ritual we love to do together. Ofcourse, choosing it extends into helping me with tucking in the washed, crisp sheets and putting in the pillow covers to match. Thus, an activity which would have been considered a chore, now becomes family bonding time, leaving pleasant imprints in their minds.

Laying the table for the family dinner (the only meal we eat at the dining table as a family), picking out the crockery when we have guests over, deciding the menu for parties, or the venue for a celebratory dinner, are all “rituals”. And the rules remain the same: Everyone participates. (Even if you are sulking!!)

We have our ugly days too. A ten year old who thinks her mother is just not ‘cool’ enough to hand over an expensive piece of gadget to her, or a five year old who has just been reprimanded for pouring water all over the living room rug. Mom and Dad have just had an argument about the broken tap. Just like any family, we have our shares of sulks and fights.

But over the years, we have, as a family, evolved into a collective habit. We set aside the sulks and the fights to accommodate these seemingly silly rituals.

This, perhaps, will train them for the future; a future where they will have emotionally, physically and mentally trying times. But also a future where they realise that the tiring times can be set aside to give time to more important things – like a hug, a greeting, for a loved one; or a bed time story for a little one.

This post was originally published at 'Parentous'

When I write....

* Rant alert!!!
** Writer's block
*** Bad combination! What you still doing here?

I found a treasure recently - an old dairy, with yellowing pages and folded edges.

Yes. Yours truly was the kind who poured her sappy heart out into fresh, crisp sheets with narrow lines, of a dairy..... Lines that barely contained the tails of the 'g's and the heads of the 'T's.... just as it could barely contain the emotions that poured forth from the much chewed reynolds pen.

I read them again and again, with flashes of visuals coming in spurts and bits. I laughed at some of the pages, amazed at how much joy the little things in life gave. The flutter of a heartbeat when a glance lingered on a little more than it should. The sense of pride in hearing one's name being mentioned alongside obvious 'excellent' students in class. The hurt in finding that not everyone saw things in the same light as I did. Uninhibited emotions that could only be shared with the best of friends..... sometimes only a dairy could take on that role.

Remember the simple joy of writing? Not punching impersonal, cloned alphabets into the keyboard of a swanky laptop; but the sheer genius of creating words, sentences and stories through a pen. The joy of seeing one's personality flow out of the pen into beautiful, pristine sheets of paper.

When was the last time I had to change the refill of a pen? I don't remember - pens no longer ran out of ink before we lost them!

Remember how our growing up years were, to a great extent, focussed on perfecting this very art of transferring thoughts to paper. We put in years of practice - of holding the pen at that perfect angle, of keeping the thumb positioned at the best position to leverage the speed of the mischevious nib, the tilt of the index finger and the agility of the wrist. Years of parents of toddlers tightly holding their little fingers wrapped around pencils, coaxing, threatening, bribing those little minds to replicate letters, words and numbers.

Remember how we could determine who the owner of an essay was, by just looking at the writing? Or the hours spent thinking who the 'secret admirer' was - and then comparing all the handwritings in class to try and arrive at a blissful conclusion? Remember how parents proudly held aloft notebook covered in brown paper to show off the handiwork that lie within? 

Years of aching wrists and fingers, not to mention the agony of lost or stolen pens, pencils, erasers and sharpeners; years of ink-smeared fingers, ink smudged shirt pockets, ink cartridges and refills - today, are all just a page in the story of  each of us.

pic courtersy google images

 

No More Kanya ‘Daan’

I was in a wedding, the kiddos in tow. My kids love the extravagant Delhi weddings. Of course, the fact that they get to guzzle all the soft drinks they want, and binge on the array of desserts does have something to do with it, but I suspect it has to do with the music and the dancing too.

Weddings are also a place where relatives by the dozen, meet, exclaim on how much the kids have grown, and give them a tight hug, or a pull of the baby cheeks. This is also a time when my ‘ideal bahu’ (daughter-in-law) avatar makes a guest appearance, as I touch their feet in respect.

As the kids grew up, they picked up the habit from us, the parents. It began with the grandparents, and then to all and sundry who seemed to be people we did the exercise (pun intended!) with. While the grandparents are a very enlightened lot, there are relatives who are yet to accept concepts like gender equality.

Thus, in this particular wedding, I greeted an elderly aunt with much respect. My son, being the energetic five-year old that he is, immediately took on the game of ‘feet-touching’ too. Needless to say, the elderly aunt was ecstatic to receive this token of respect from him. Not to be left behind, my daughter, all of nine, decided to garner some brownie points too.

But the moment she bent down to touch her feet, the aunt gasped and said, “Oh, but girls in our family don’t touch feet.” A perplexed nine-year old was not able to understand why she was not given the same blessings.

A little later, a conversation between the still-confused none year old and the relative in question (yes, I have a persistent daughter ):

Little G : Badi Dadi (Elder Grandmother) why didn’t you let me touch your feet?

Elderly Aunt : Because I love you very very much.

Little G : But you let my brother do it....dosn’t you love my brother ?

EA : Oh, but in our homes, daughters are like Devi (Goddesses)…. So you are like a ‘Devi’ for me.

Little G (still thinking hard): So that means no girls should touch feet right? What about Mamma? She is also a girl. Why can she touch your feet?

EA : Well, you will not touch our feet – not your parents or us. Your brother can, but you can't. You see beta, you will touch the feet of elders in your home. (Noticing the perplexed expression on her face, Dadi clarifies)…. When you get married.

This is where I had to interfere and take her aside to prevent any further conversation on the same topic. But some damage had already been done – I discovered that Little G was not very happy with the way things were. She looked at me through spoonfuls of the ice cream, and said, “But this is my home!”

I assured her this most certainly was her home, and she could do all the stuff her brother would – including touching feet if she so felt like it! She hugged me and rushed off to play, the worry out of her mind, the ambiguity no longer visible to her.

While I discussed this with my Mother in Law, she was sympathetic with my concerns, but she said that ‘this is how the world is’. When I question further, on why the world is such, she patiently explained to me that every societal norm that was ever made, revolved around the fact that girls would be married off one day, and would cease to be part of their birth family.

Hmmmmm………. So, they were pampered to bits in their families, only to be treated like second grade citizens in their ‘married to’ family! Wow – that certainly made sense!

But this set me thinking – why do we have rules that create differences in two children?

- Dowry for one, property for the other

- Family name for one, soft corner for another

- Education for one, ‘Training’ for another

- “Budhape ka sahara” for one, “Paraya Dhan” for another

So, are we saying that we have differential rules to facilitate the roles of our sons and our future daughters in law - so that they are 'conditioned' to be care-takers as son and daughter-in-law?

Who gave us the right to decide our childrens' role in our lives? We stay with our sons and pine for our daughters, while cursing our daughters in law. We stay with our in-laws, while wishing for the company of our parents and envying our brothers.

At the end of this angry rant, an ancillary to all these ‘rules’ – do we have kids so that our ‘Budhapa’ is taken care of? Well, I know that for many of us, it’s a vehement ‘NO’. So then, why can’t we do away with differentiating ‘rules’ for the little ones?

I leave you with a beautiful piece from the Lebanese poet Gibran

“Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams”

Thoughts Please .......

This was originally posted in "Parentous"

Oh for the Love of Love!!

You can hate it, you can love it, you can scoff about it, or you can be wistful about it. But there's no way you can ignore this mush-in-your-face-festivities called Valentine's day!!

Who cares that it actually is in memory of a martyr? Just like Mother's Day (another festival where the person who championed the cause , actually spent her entire fortune fighting the commercialized version of her dream), Valentine's Day owes its popular existence entirely to the geniuses in the marketing department of card companies.

However, like I said, one really cannot ignore V-day, can we? Whether its the lovestruck couples around you, or the trying-to-get-lucky-in-love variety, or the I-hate-this-day-coz-I'm-so-lonely people you encounter, each one only reminds you that today my dear, is Valentine's Day.

My love-hate relationship with V day began the year I started college. (Yes, yes, laugh all you want. When we were school going kids in a little town tucked away in the hills of Kerala, we had no clue 14th Feb was any different from other days!) 

The shock came by way of being suddenly confronted with different kinds of hopefuls - some were shy and endearing, some haughty and confident, some funny and clueless. (The funny and clueless variety were my favorite!). But as freshers in college, V day was far from pleasant - you had no idea who would spring forth from the corner of the cafeteria to thrust a rose and a chocolate bar at you!

However, at the height of pheromone-driven love, V day syndrome reached a different level - this day was yet another excuse to suffocate the person you love with an overdose of gifts and romantic words stuffed into a card. (Honestly, does anyone remember the Hallmark cards with pages and pages of poetry written on them?). But truth be said, one did not, even for a moment, allow common sense to over rule the heart. Thus, all the ridiculously priced roses, all the unbelievably juvenile gifts did seem to make complete sense to the hormone crazed hearts, didn't they?

The first few years of commitment in love, or what they call 'marriage' brought about a certain saneness in the way we celebrated V-day. I mean you see the guy every day! So of course you are not gushing your heart out in a clandestine meeting over ridiculous candlelight and a teddy bear that cheekily says 'I love you.' But a peer-pressure induced romantic evening was certainly a welcome change from the daily monotony of work-home balance.

As the years go by, and the relationship has moved on from 'I-wonder-if-he-still-loves-me-as-much' phase, love, and everything that symbolizes it, takes on a new meaning. Let me try to decipher what 'love' means to me on this V-day

• When he starts a conversation with, 'I don't know if you will like this........' I know I am going to love the new book, or the new scarf he has picked up for me. (No, there has never been uber-expensive surprises. We prefer long discussions and opinions and choices when we want to spend like there's no tomorrow!)
• When he walks out of the room to have a long conversations on the phone, I don't have the urge to overhear his conversation
• When I cook something special, he urges the kids to yell "Very yummy Mom!" - which the kids comply willingly
• When I have a ridiculous incident (read that as falling flat on my face while walking on perfectly aligned plane surfaces) he tries very hard to hide his laugh.
• When I have a flat tire, even though I know there's no way he's going to be able to help, I still call him. And he, after appropriate sympathetic tut-tuts, tells me the obvious - to call the helpline.
• When I have to take an early morning flight, and I tiptoe around the house getting ready, he will wake up, switch on the living room lights, plop himself on the sofa, and sleep with his eyes open till I leave.
• When we fight over who switches off the light at night, he teams up with both the kids to blackmail me - "Mommmmmeeeeee ....... please switch of the light. We loooooooove you!"
• I reach out and hold his hand in the movie theatre. Sometimes the kids are in between, but we negotiate with them to change seats ;-)
• I like Chinese and Continental food, and he considers only Indian cuisine to be 'food'. So we usually go to multi-cuisine restaurants.
• He smiles indulgently at the daughter when she explains how the silly guy in school does not know chlorophyll helps in photosynthesis. And then he points at me and says 'Did you know Mum was Head Girl in school?'
• His chest visibly swells in pride when kiddo 1 tells kiddo 2 that "Papa's biryani is better than even Mom's!". Truth be told - he does make a mean biryani (an Indian Rice dish)

Maybe this is what its all about -  all the evenings we've crashed out on the couch with the TV blaring well into the night, all the days we have stood in the balcony watching the rain, all the silly games we've played with the kids on the living room carpet, the companionship in this weird unprepared journey called life that we've ventured into.

Maybe there is a method to the madness called love.

Apt quote huh? Credit Birthdayquotes

Happy Valentines Day y'all!! :-)

Off with their heads.. err.. stubble

This post is a part of the 'Shave or Crave' movement in association with BlogAdda.com

Knowing each other for over 15 years has its pros and cons. (yeah, yeah.... we are ancient and all that!!). G and I know each other well enough to complete each other's sentences, and yet, there are times when shy, subtle hints are just not enough to convey a heartfelt message.

G prides himself on his immaculate grooming at work in the hospitality industry. So much so, that there have been instances where he has shaven twice in a day to ensure brownie points in a meeting. Hence, as I went through the misery called wedding rituals, I would take one look at his drop dead gorgeous looks and congratulate myself on a job well done.

Alas! Little did I know Dr.Jekyl and Mr.Hyde were not a fiction of someone's imagination .... they truly exist! Let me elaborate this complex situation by using a conversation during our first few hours after the wedding ceremonies:

G : Hey gorgeous...... wakey wakey!

Me (eyes still closed) : Hi sweetheaaaaa ...... err..... what happened to you?

G (hands going to his face) : What? Oh this? This is my macho look..... a stubble.... nice, no?

Me : Err...... ummm......... What are we ordering for breakfast? (dodging the deadly weapon on his face in an attempt to save my face.... literally!)

G : What happened?

Me (still trying to be a nice bride) : I haven't brushed yet.......

Thankfully, by the time we were dressed to go out for the day, he was back to being Dr. Jekyl err..... G. Pretty soon, I discovered that G was the alter ego of "Office G", when it came to shaving. He was content with the 5 o'clock shadow (5 o' clock shadow my foot !! what about the morning, evening and night? I could sue whoever coined that phrase) that adorned his face on the days that he lazed around at home.

I tried various subtle hints, from screaming 'Ouch.... A porcupine!!' when his face found mine, to placing his shaving razor at all unimaginable places. (Truth be told, I married a kind man - he did not seem to mind the razor showing up on the breakfast table, on the TV remote, inside his pajama pockets, or even on his favorite spot on the couch! He simply scratched his head muttering "Strange......" while putting it back to where it belonged)

In yet another instance, I clicked photos of him in all his sleeping glory, and showed it to him during an exceptionally romantic moment. He reacted quite badly to the way he looked. "Hey, I look so geeky! Thank God for that stubble, huh?"

Yes, I waited till he walked out of the room to physically try and kick myself, thank you very much!

In another instance, I bought for him, one of the best shaving products (you know, like Gillette says, "The Best a Man Can Get" ....) to try and coax him to shave. He was touched. "Wow!! Thanks dear.... I've  always wanted this one. Will use it when I get ready for the meeting tomorrow" ..... This time I almost succeeded in strangling myself.

Pretty soon, I realized that for the good of all humanity for my own sanity, I would just have to get the message accross.

G and I were looking forward to a lazy weekend.  No parties, no mall hopping, no friends. Perfect oppurtunity!

I decided to go ethnic on him. (Call it slimy, scheming or just plain selfish - whenever I care to wrap the 6 yard devil's creation around me, I use the sari to my distinct advantage). My red georgette sari (thank you, Sridevi and no thanks to you, Mr. India!!) with a ridiculously low cut blouse, not to mention the perfume that G loves, and I was ready.

G : "Whoa!! Where are we going?"

Me : "Nowhere..... why?" (God! I am good at this!)

G : "W-Why are you dressed like that?"

Me : "Oh, you don't like it? I'll change then..........."

G : "No.... please don't. Looks great" (Pulling me towards him, running his hands over my arms)

Me : "You really like my arms, don't you?"

G : "Yeah ..... so soft. You sure we aren't going anywhere? You're wearing that perfume too!"

Me : "Well, I want tell you a secret."

As G's eyes widened like Mr. Bean's, I whispered lovingly in his ear, "I wax my arms, you know."

G : "Huh?"

Me : (still whispering conspiratorily) "I also do unthinkable stuff to my eyebrows too."

G (the gentle soul that he is, he was getting distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation) :  "I already know that.... and I don't think I need the gory details....... W-What do you want?" (I swear, I almost saw him holding a cross to ward me off)

Me (smiling sweetly) : "Why don't you shave on the days you are at home?"

G : "Oh I get it now - you don't like my 'at-home' avatar!!.....  This why I've been finding my razor all over the house? I just want to be me! This is the real 'Me' ......... so get used to it!"

Me : "OK dear. I completely get it."

G : "Y-You do?"

Me : "Yes ofcourse, I do. I love you, remember?"

G (as he took me in his arms) : "I love you too"

Me : "Awwww.... I am sure you too will love the real 'Me' next weekend. 

G : "Err.......What?"

Me (almost gushing in excitement) : I can't tell you how happy I am that I can be in my nightie all day long! And no waxing, no threading, no makeup... wow!! You are a darling, G! ....... Oh! And I hope you like under-arm hair as well...."

The next moment, I was on the floor, G was running towards the bathroom, razor in hand.

Mission accomplished. Sanity restored....... the Best a (Wo)man Can Get indeed!!

Mother of a Son

Yes, I have a son.

When he was born, there were joyous celebrations to welcome him. My elder child, a daughter, welcomed him with love only a sister can have for a brother. All the ashirvads (blessings) of “Doodho nahao puto falo” (bathe in milk (ugh!!!) and give birth to sons(!)) had apparently worked its effect well.

Before my son was born, my daughter was my entire world. I would glare angrily at anyone who even remotely suggested that my second one (I knew I wanted two!) had to be a boy to “complete the family” (whatever that meant!).

I was certain that my second one would be a daughter too – because I felt I would never be able to love a son as much – yes, that’s how much I love my daughter.

But when he was born, it ceased to matter that he was a son. For me, it was just love all over again. I remember how some indignant relatives (angered by the fact that I preferred to have healthy babies to “puto falo”) told me that bringing up a daughter was a difficult task in this terrible world. How the daughter would prove to be a huge responsibility – even a liability (“Paraya dhan” – somebody else’s 'property' - WTF!!)

But today, what prompted me to write this post is not how my daughter is my blessing (which she is!). Rather, it is to explain why I am glad I do have a son.

No – not because my family is “complete”.

Nor because I feel he will set fire to the pyre when I die (frankly, I care two hoots what happens to my body after my death). Neither is it because I think a son is insurance to an easy retired life, or because of a dowry that he traditionally is supposed bring in.

No – not even that he may act as a bodyguard to my daughter…..

After all, these are the traditional reasons to have a son, right?

My reason is something different. The way I see it, raising a son is way more difficult.

See why,  in my post at Parentous.

Walking "The Talk"

I thought I'd just shut my eyes and ears, and maybe I'll be able to breathe with lesser difficulty. I was wrong. Every time there is any woman I know, who does not come home by the usual time she does, I panic.

When it happened in Guwahati, it was because 'she was drunk'.

When it happened in the various villages across Haryana, it was because the poor young boys had too much chowmein

When it happens in the city we just love to hate, it is because they wear clothes too short or too tight, or too bright. Or maybe it is because they party too much, go to all the wrong places, or are dressed too well.

When are we going to realize that in all the statements that we make about such incidents, anything that comes after "because" is exactly what these demons in human form bank upon. It is all the 'because's that help them go scot free after having taken away, horrendously, from an individual their right to live fearlessly.

When I was moving out of home to a hostel closer to college, my parents had 'the talk' with me. All young girls know 'the talk'. My mother first sat me down, and went into the details of what was 'right' and 'wrong' for me. She overcame her embarrassment to tell me all about staying safe, and about wearing right to stay safe. She reminded me that I had to remember them - her and Dad, before I did anything that might cause them pain.

Then Dad sat me down to tell me his version of what he thought I should be doing so that his little girl was not hurt. He too, in his own words, conveyed the message I already knew. I had already been groped, pinched and leered at in crowded buses, in trains and in market places.

When my sister was ready for the same move, this drama repeated itself. She too, got her share of 'the talk'

I do not have a brother. Which means I am not an authority on what parents tell their adolescent / young adult son. So let me ask you readers, especially the men, or women who have male siblings out there, something...

How many will have 'the talk' with their sons?

Let me tell you of a relative who did sit his son down and give him a serious talk. The talk went something like this:

"Son, I know you will have fun. Colleges are meant for that. You will find girls too. Sexy ones (a whisper here) too. Its ok to have fun. Just remember that you can have all the fun in the world, but you will marry the right girl who we choose."

This is not the talk I meant. How many parents of future men have sat them down to teach them to respect women?

How many will tell their darling sons that women are not objects, are not meant to be leered, groped or pinched, no matter what their clothes are.

How many will actually overcome embarrassment (yes, mothers and fathers) to tell the Alpha male that all women, like the person who gave birth to them, have to be treated with dignity? And that the choice of who touches the women's breasts and bottoms are entirely their choice?

How many will tell them that rapists and molestors are a reality, and may even be their friends?

How many will tell them that no woman, irrespective of religion, caste, creed, age, skin color, deserves to be treated the way the girl in Guwahati was, or the girl in the moving bus was, treated?

How many will tell them, "Son, there will come a time when peer pressure will look you in the eye and tell you to do something you know is wrong. When that happens, promise me you will kick peer pressure in the ass, and do the right thing."

I have a son. Embarrassment be damned, I, for one, will tell my son as much, when the time is right. Will you? 

The Shoppers Stop Love affair

"Errr...... a competition in Fashion?" The look on my darling husband's face told me he was trying hard to suppress a laugh that would, had it escaped his lips, ensure that he went hungry for a few days.

"Yes, fashion!" I retorted. "I am stylish you know.... I do know quite a bit about fashion, and I love to shop...."

While Hubby made a safe and hasty exit from the room, I had already started buying my very real wish-list in my imaginary trip to Shoppers Stop.

Let me explain why Shoppers Stop. Nearly two decades ago, SS was the only place you could see the kind of brands you saw in shopping malls abroad. I was introduced to SS as a slightly (?) overweight, clumsy teenager, by a doting dad. We had seen shopping in malls in Dubai, and India was yet to see the mushrooming of malls.

Needless to say, I fell in love - in love with the rows and rows of gleaming glass cases with jewelry, watches and perfumes, In love with the array of sexy outfits under flattering spotlights. In that visit, I was gifted a gold plated bracelet (bought from SS) which, for a while, I was inseparable from.

Every visit to SS hence, has been a satiating treat - visual, olfactory, and material. (The material part comes with certain after effects such as a hysterical spouse, but still). This can easily explain why against better judgement (and impending laughter from people who know me), I pounced upon the contest from Shoppers Stop which is all about conjuring up the most stylish look for the festive season.

Delhi is fast emerging as the fashion capital of the sub-continent, and some of it rubbed on me too. So I am influenced by the 5 trends of the festive season:

1. Say no to bling! - Supposedly, this festive season will see the use of a lot of subtle, dull gold embroidery but bling is out, which means, we go easy on the Swarovski (oh damn!! there goes my entire festive wardrobe!)
2. Offset the brightness : Traditional fabrics with different textures is good, but offsetting the typical festive colours with richer colours is a grand idea, such as teaming outfits with black for some oomph with the festive choices (I love black anyway - so yay!!!)
3. Make a statement : For subtle and elegant garments, pick a statement neck piece or earrings (I hear you loud and clear - Earrings it is!!)
4. Breeze through the festivities : A relatively fuss-free look is ideal for the festive season. The silhouette this year is long, long and long, with flowing fabric (Yay again: flowing fabric = hidden flaws)
5. Layer your look : Layering is a big trend for the season, so whether it's a jacket over a lehenga, or a waistcoat teamed with a skirt, go with layering to enhance your festive look. (also beats being hit by pneumonia in Delhi winters)

Keeping the above discoveries in mind, ta-da.......!!!! Here's my pick from the online store at Shoppers Stop:



My Wishlist pick!

1. This long flowy kurta with a dressy dupatta from Kashish  is exactly what the Doctor advised for a sophisticated yet feminine look. The embroidered yoke and the V neck are flattering styles, and is easy to carry off - whether you have dance on your mind, or you intend to charm the heck out of everyone around :-)
2. This uber cool shrug from Life is my pick to ensure I am not shivering in my bones while making conversations in the Delhi winters. Life is Shoppers Stops exclusive label that embodies modern designs which are urban, youthful and in keeping with the current fashion. The knit fabric of the shrug, and the flattering cut which ends just above the waist, are just two of the many factors (including the unbelievable price tag of Rs 699 - can you believe it!?) for my choice.
3. This is a clutch from Hidesign I would kill, maul, or blackmail to get my hands on. I mean, just look at it! How can anyone resist that piece of art? The fact that it does wonders to my budget (at a surprising Rs. 1395) is only bonus. Yummy!
4. Footwear that gives you a glam factor, without compromising on your dignity (yup! I've tripped and fallen too many times to trust footwear that look menacingly heeled) is a boon for womankind. And voila! I have found it in this dull gold peep-toes that will add a good 2 inches to my height. :-)
5. I am an earring person. I often give the neck piece a miss, so that I can flaunt a statement earring. And this beautiful gold plated dangler earrings with golden topaz, are just the right things to go weak-kneed on! Did I hear someone say "Oh but no bling, remember?" Well, a little bling did no one any harm now, did it?
6. I first thought bare arms were the right look, till I came across a classic - this bracelet is one I would invest in without blinking an eyelid, for the sheer fact that it never would go out of fashion.
7. Sigh! I miss the days when a watch was more than a fashion accessory. It was what you stood for - your signature. Alas - today, a mobile phone in every hand has reduced the dependency on watches. But this amber-brown colored Esprit chronological watch for me, is the second most important accessory in my festive wishlist.

The most important one, you ask me? Why, the dazzling smile, ofcourse!! :-)

The Gift of the Question Mark

‘Make a sentence with the word “Grass”

That was the question for the 6 year old in her exam. She loved making sentences. She scrunched her face in concentration, and finally wrote a well thought out sentence, remembering all the rules in grammar that she had been taught.

The test paper came back with a zero for the sentence. The red circle around the selected words explained why.

“I saw a lion in the garden eating grass” was what the sentence read.

‘Lion’ was underlined once in red, and ‘eating grass’ was underlined twice by an irritated adult – the teacher.

The girl came back home, and showed the page to yet another adult.

“Hmmm…..” said this adult. “The lion likes to eat grass?”

“No. A lion only likes to eat what it kills. This one likes to eat rabbits, like the one in the story.” Her lips quivered in sadness while she saw the red lines on her test paper.

“Sweetie, then why did this lion eat grass?"

This adult was not angry; just a little surprised with the answer that the six-year old gave. Evidently, the child knew that lions did not eat grass. Was this child a tad rebellious, a little care-a-damn for her own good?

Read why the girl's lion ate the grass at Parentous, where parents exchange views and ideas.

Parenting without Tags

The first question I am asked when I go to a gathering with my two brats is whether I am a working mom or a ‘housewife’. This question, I believe, is the first step to ‘tagging’ me – by people who are biased towards or against my way of raising my kids. Either way, I am usually always irked by the question, to a point where I have even ignored it a couple of times.

Firstly, if there were to be a profession by name of “Stay-at-home-Mom”, it would be researched as the most skilled of all professions – after all, it is akin to raising the future of the world! So anyone who scoffs or suddenly loses interest in your conversation after you have declared thus is someone who doesn’t have much foresight.

In the other end of the spectrum, you’ll find (more often than not) people scrunching their brows in disagreement when you say you pursue a corporate career full-time. And God forbid you answer the most obvious question with, “They go to a day care….”!! You are then branded as a career minded woman who tortures the poor kids and husband for material gains. Something I have encountered as a working mother

Read the complete article at Parentous, a community of parents.

Of smart phones and stupid people

Some days just compel you to sit back and wonder if we are indeed, evolving backwards. For me, meeting up with young minds has always been an enlightening experience. Today was no exception. A little history first:

We (the organization I work for) hire from B schools, from professional colleges and from any educational institute that may have students that fit the roles. We have also been in the past, a platform for many enterprising young minds to showcase their skill through internship programmes, some of who subsequently make their first career move into this company.

This involves meeting up with and interviewing hundreds of students of varying levels of commitment, intelligence and skills, from various institutes. Some are impressive, some are not. Some are difficult, some are hilarious. But as a rule, my colleagues and I make sure that the student goes back with at least an experience worthy of the time spent with us on an interview - call it the work ethic of the HR team here.

Anyway, the reason I am frustratedly punching keys right now on my laptop, is the result of a few such interviews today. While in the interview, I was fighting to keep a straight face to avoid seeming rude to the young ladies and gentlemen who came to meet us. But once out of the interview room, I couldn't help feeling a little sad and disillusioned with the quality of education that these young minds were exposed to.

The candidates were well turned out, in branded shirts and ties, and accessories that are in tune with the latest fashion in corporate dressing. They had resumes which had words like 'metaphoric embed' and many other such impressive words. All of them were on their Internet phones, updating statuses and other relevant details important for the socially active young crowd out there, before they stepped into the interview room.

But what I will remember about them, will be they way they fumbled when they spoke about their passion. I will remember that apart from the questions that they imagined the interviewer would ask, they had not imbibed knowledge about their career choice, their hobbies, or their own family!!

They had perhaps, imagined an interview to be a place where their 'smartness' quotient would be addressed. Perhaps they felt that technical knowledge was limited to only 'experienced' people and not really for campus recruits. Or is it a general trend of callousness that prevails over the whole age group?

They had superficial know-how of questions taught to them in their 'mock interviews' conducted by the college. But quiz them on their own endeavours, and it seems as though we are conversing in a Latin American tongue!!

Some answers :

"I am a very good basketball player,"
 ........ later....... "Position? Errr...... I play everything....... there are no positions in basketball!!"

"My passion is people. I love talking to people, getting to know them."
.......later...... "Actually Ma'am, my brother is something with the Police in Canada. I don't exactly know his designation"

The resume says "Detailed reading on the life of Shakuntala"
...... later....... "Errr...... she was the daughter of a pujari.... donno the name of the pujari, but her ring was swallowed by a fish."

"Yeah I guess that's what it means......"

"I wanna be you know, like an executive or something ......."

Many more such instances, where one didn't know whether it was the parents to be blamed, for not creating an environment of excellence, or at least imparting a passion for anything in life, or the faculty of these swanky money minting buildings who probably just want them to clear interviews, or the education system in general.

Any thoughts? Or am I over reacting?

Published at 'Parentous' ..........

"I am ‘Mommyeeee’ to an intelligent, almost-rebellious 9 year old, and an innovatively naughty, hyperactive 4 year old. While I am mostly a ‘cool’ Mom, there are days when I throw all caution to the wind and resort to the earliest form of discipline known to mankind – also known as ‘Because-I-told-you-so’

More than once, I have caught the siblings enacting their favorite dictator; namely me. My daughter perches a pair of glasses precariously on her little nose and in a high octave that would put an opera singer to shame say, “Because I told you so, and I am your Mamma……” to her brother literally ROFLing in pure glee.

While happy that both my kids show such a bias towards fine arts, I would definitely not like to be the villain of their lives all the time! That’s when I decided enough is enough, and their father would not get away with being the good cop forever.

Evening saw me sending the kids into the living room, with a treat that was rare in our household – Maggi, Coke and Chota Bheem, with a smiling threat to “stay in front of your cartoons till you are called.”

As an incredulous husband watched on, as I proceeded to shut the door of the master bedroom..........".


Read more of my article "Dad Learns to Discipline" at Parentous.com where parents discuss all things about the most important job in the world..... Parenting!

Of Karva Chauth, the 'Chaste' wives and TV Soaps

Lets do a simple exercise. Go to the most knowledgeable, most sought after friend, guide and teacher  (Ofcourse I was referring to Google ) and ask for something called an 'ideal hindu husband'....

Any luck? No? Oh... so one of the oldest civilizations in the world has nothing to offer, no two bit to preach to an important player in a marriage?

Oh Ok! I get it. Marriage is not all that important in our civilization, right?

Now lets try 'ideal Hindu Wife'.... WHOA!!!! Google really does adore ideal wives. If you are as lucky as me, you'll find, atleast in 5 different sites, the following couplet:

"Karyeshu Dasi, Karaneshu Manthri;
Bhojeshu Mata, Shayaneshu Rambha;
Roopeshu lakshmi, Kshamayeshu Dharitri;
Satkarma Nari, Kuladharma Patni"

Let me translate it to you poor sanskrit-unaware chaps out there:
"A servant (literal meaning is actually 'slave') while working,
A clever minister while advising (the husband; only the husband, mind you)
A mother when feeding (that explains the eternal 'cook like my Mom syndrome')
A slut celestial nymph - Rambha in bed (of husband ofcourse gasp!!! what were you thinking?)
A looker like Goddess Lakshmi
As patient (forgiving) as mother Earth
A lady with all these virtues (?)
Is the perfect wife"

Go on. Read that again. I am sure there is quite a considerable percent of our population who are rueful why they weren't born in the century that actually practised this. And if this couplet leaves any room for doubt, you'll even find training manuals for good wives.

Now, before you spring the it-has-been-wrongly-translated thing on me, let me also tell you that we are master con men when it comes to twisting words the way we want to. Read it any way you wish - does any version make you feel better about the expectations from a 'kuladharma patni'?

But forget the Manusmriti (incidentally, point number 18, 19 and 20 were runners up; but the winner hands down is point number 25 - superb, I tell you!!) even Balaji Telefilms believes this is exactly how the good wife should behave. Just ask the Viranis, the Raizadas, the Singhanias, the Aggarwals etc. how they like their 'bahus' - decked up, eyes downcast and calling their husbands 'Mannu key Papa'

The reason for this sudden outburst? Why, our good old Karva Chauth!!

It all began when my daughter saw me all decked up in Karva Chauth finery (worthy of a Balaji Film set), pooja thali in hand. I had just finished throwing the flowers and rice at the moon, and done the ritual as Mom-in-law had taught me years ago. During the first Karva Chauth, Mom-in-law and me had both vehemently agreed  to one thing - the saris and the jewelry and the sweets were fine, but no fasting-shasting for us hot blooded food lovers......

Daughter dearest looked up expectantly at me, finally telling me "Go on. Do it already!!"

I looked at her quizzically and asked, "Do what, princess?"

Princess : "Go touch Papa's feet. That's what they do in the movies right? So do it!"

Me : Gasp!!!!!

Husband : ROFL......(literally!)

Truth be told, if I had to fast to keep hubby alive, I would have run away from the wedding. On a more serious note, a corollary to this is, is there anything that the husband is supposed to do to ensure the wife has a long life?

No, I'm not talking about a crazy eyed ShahRukh Khan doing a DDLJ for karva chauth (though I was pleasantly surprised to see this breed of young men too). I'm talking about a true dictum (like the ones for women : the vat savitri, the teej, the karvan chauths, the varalaxmi vratams....)

Anyway, back to the most important question : Why aren't there any directives for men on the bencmarks for an ideal Husband? Or is there no such thing as an ideal husband?

I tried all the search options I could think of, from 'Ideal Husband' to 'Role of Husbands in Manusmriti' .... but couldn't come up with anything remotely similar for husbands. Why?

Any thoughts?

Things You Didn't Know You'd Say in a Marriage

Well, there are a hundred in this list, but I thought I mustn't be the one credited with the extinction of an age-old institution, so I put forth here only a 10 pointer.

•  Statement 10 : "I wonder where he gets his stupidity from. Not my side of genes, I assure you." - A statement most commonly used when an offspring gets bad grades in school, beats up other kids, makes embarrassing statements in public, or all of the above. Of course, this statement is only relevant to partners who have children and does not count for the ones who are still in the process of being conned by various relatives into being parents.
• Statement 9 : "You are 3.2 centimeters closer to the switch, so why don't you get it?" - This is the climax of a very mature conversation involving very high analysis and decision making skills. The said conversation begins when any one of the spouses tells the other one to switch on/off an electrical appliance such as a light, fan, AC, TV etc. Can also be used when it involves things like shutting the door, answering the telephone etc. A direct co-relation has been established between the frequency of usage of this sentence, and the number of years of marriage.
• Statement 8 : "Of course I liked the gift." A simple guide to understanding what it most probably means:
• 'I hate that color. Will get it exchanged once he forgets about it.'
• 'I will never use that. Wonder where she gets these weird ideas from. Maybe there's a refund policy.'
• 'When will they stop showing brainless ads of these on TV.... as if real men used them!'
• 'Hmmmm...... maybe, if I turned this inside out, I could learn to like the color.'
• 'Red? Again? The guy needs to go through a crash course in colors.'
• 'Wonder if that stupid secretary bought this one too.'
• Statement 7 : "In a meeting, honey." Yup! A guide to what it means - again:
• The obvious; you know - the thing almost all Ekta Kapoor Serials are made of.
• 'I did not check if the movie tickets are available - lemme get out of this one alive!'
• The final over in an India -Pakistan match. Wait - I'd rather not even pick up the phone
• The jerk! He forgot our anniversary - let him grovel!
• Maybe - just maybe, in a meeting
• Statement 6 : 'I woke up the last time......' usually accompanied by a whine, found among specimens that have mutated into something called 'parents'. Most commonly used when they have to deal with national emergencies like soiled diapers, refilling of the feeding bottle, or just plain play-with-baby-at-midnight regime.
• Statement 5: 'Whoa! You're gonna eat that?' Extremely suicidal tendencies may cause a spouse (usually the male) to use this statement to the other, who in turn, may turn homicidal.
• Statement 4 : "Who ate that last gulab jamun?" (or pizza, or chocolate bar. Never, never an apple, a salad or a bowl of sprouts) - Self explanatory.
• Statement 3 : "Lets get this straight - you asked me to marry you." Sometimes this statement may resemble a broken record - interspersed with bouts of crying. Other versions may include 'I should have listened to my mother / friends / neighbour / pet dog....." (no, fathers don't make it to that list, and mothers top that list)
• Statement 2 : "But you used to like it ....." could be used in varying intensity depending on usage - from a personal quirk (like a snorting laugh, or an a nasal twang a la Reshammiya, etc.)to food, item of clothing, or bedroom moves.
• Statement Numero Uno : 'You've changed.' This little bomb demands special attention from the listener. Things you should not do if you want to live to see your next birthday:
• Statement 7 
• Statement 5 (Ensures torture before death)
• Statement 3 (Ditto)
• 'So have you!' (Most commonly used, and proof that idiots still exist. Will secure the talker a position on the couch.)

Any additions?