Am I really dancing?

 That thai tha ha.. the notes coming over the phone call fill the room, and I am concentrating on moving my hands and feet in time to the beat. As I move from one adavu to the other, I enjoy the movement and the moment so much.  I am completely overwhelmed - am I really dancing?  Well, these are baby steps and I have only finished a month of classes but still, I am moving in time to a beat.

I have wanted to learn to dance for as long as I can remember. At first, it was the dancers' beautiful bright costumes that attracted me. I was also enthralled by the way their jewellery glittered when the spotlight fell on it at a particular angle. I grew up watching dance performances at the auditorium not far from our home, and learnt to appreciate the synchronisation between the dancer and the accompanists. Our financial circumstances were not such that I could be sent for dance classes, so I learnt to be satisfied watching a lot of performances, and sometimes trying out a few steps at home. I can still recall how I was once given a pair of fancy glass bangles, and the first thing I did after wearing them was to strike a pose that involved crossing my wrists to an imaginary beat, instantly shattering one of the bangles. Even while writing about it, I can still feel the sorrow I felt then.

The first time I saw an Odissi performance was when I was 17 years old. The drape of the sari, the understated jewellery, the haunting music and the beautiful graceful movements completely captivated me. Traumatised by the constant eve-teasing incidents every time I stepped out in Delhi, I never even thought of finding out more about where once could learn the dance form. And anyway, by then I had resigned myself to the fact that I would love dance, and enjoy watching it, but it was not something I would ever do myself. My sister-in-law was a dance teacher, but we had never lived in the same city, so learning from her was not an option, though I did keep telling her that I would one day learn from her.

During the pandemic, it suddenly struck me that I now had the time and the means to learn. My sister-in-law had relocated to Hyderabad recently, and her classes had stopped due to the move and the lockdown.  So much of our communication was happening over the internet so why not this? I asked her if she would be willing to teach me. I will be eternally grateful to her for immediately saying yes, and for sounding so overjoyed at the idea. 

I am 59 years old, definitely no spring chicken, but no one can say I am lacking in enthusiasm or determination. There is a nagging pain in my left knee that prevents me from doing the 'aramandi' properly, but I am confident that as I continue with my classes, the knee will realise I have no time to pander to minor inconveniences, and learn to bend painlessly.  Knowing that I am dancing only for my pleasure removes all stress of what an audience will think of my abilities and I can move freely and fearlessly, mastering one adavu after another.

Just knowing that I am dancing gives me indescribable joy, and I feel blessed.

Marriages made in heaven ?

 

From the time we were kids, we were quite used to people dropping in to our place in the evenings for a chat, and always, a cup of tea or coffee. One of our most regular visitors in Delhi, just after we moved in, was a gentleman named Gopal. He was in his early 30s and worked in a tea company as a clerk. Gopal Mama, as we called him, lived as a paying guest in the flat opposite ours. He was quite lonely, and we were very used to see him sitting and chatting with my parents in the evening, before going off to the restaurant close by for his dinner.

 

One summer, my maternal grandmother, Ammamma, was visiting us, and joined these chats happily. She liked Gopal Mama very much, as he was polite and kind, and had no ‘bad’ habits like drinking or smoking.  He probably was reminded of his mother when chatting with my Ammamma, and they had a lot to say to each other.   At some point during her trip, she decided that he should be married as he was lonely, his health was getting ruined due to eating unhealthy food in a ‘hotel’ and there was no one to attend to him when he fell ill. All good reasons to find a life partner in those days, I guess. 

 

When Ammamma had a huge family to look after,  a few years ago, a lady in her neighbourhood would come over to help her in the kitchen. This lady had 2 daughters, and they had often come along with their mother when they were young. They were not well-off, and hopefully received some income from cooking in two or three houses. The elder daughter was now married, but my grandmother knew that the younger one was ‘eligible’ and ready for marriage. A letter was sent off to the mother, informing her about this very suitable boy, and asking whether Ammamma should talk to his family.  Presumably the response came very soon, and this resulted in Gopal Mama’s mother arriving to stay with her son for a week.

 

Within the same week, the mother and daughter arrived at our house after a 3 day journey from near Madurai. The same evening, Akka (as we addressed the daughter), was dressed up in a pretty sari. My mother made pakodas and halwa, and Gopal Mama came with his mother to officially see the girl. I don’t know whether they liked each other but

they must have approved of each other after that one meeting. The marriage was finalised. Mama’s only misgiving was that his salary was not enough to support a wife, and he had hoped for a wife who would also add to the family income.

 

My mother spoke to our houseowner who lived in the ground floor. They were originally from Rajasthan and ran a leather shoes business out of a tiny office a few streets away – would they not need an office assistant who could read and write English. A meeting was arranged, salary details were discussed and suddenly Akka had a job. And this, when she did not know a word of Hindi, which was the basic language for communication in the office!

 

Her mother went back to make some essential purchases and inform other relatives back home, while Akka stayed back with us and started working in the office.  The next issue that came up was a place to stay for the couple once they were married. My mother again spoke to the houseowner – while we lived on the first floor, there was a room with a kitchen attached to the terrace above us. Would it not be good to rent it out to the young couple at a nominal rent? Obviously, this was also very acceptable.

 

Within a few weeks, Akka had a job, a future husband and a house to move into. The simple wedding was conducted while my grandmother was still with us, and the couple moved in. The couple presumably grew to like each other and prosper in life. Over the years, we moved houses, and so did they, but they stayed in touch. We heard about the birth of their daughters. They visited my parents to seek their blessings on finishing 25 years of marriage and I can imagine how proud my parents felt at having been instrumental in bringing this couple together and arranging for their future too.

 

Just the fact that both families were good and were from similar backgrounds of limited means is all that my grandmother knew before taking matters into her own hands and giving them the necessary introduction. How much simpler it was then. Watching the Indian Matchmakers serial, the completely bratty youngsters and the very silly mothers (especially one really idiotic one) reminded me of this marriage that happened so smoothly. It was enough to have some obedient people and some very well-meaning adults who did not shy off from intervening when they felt it was required . 

 

I am as amazed at the mother and daughter who happily boarded a train, just on my grandmother’s advice, as at Gopal Mama who was also willing to completely trust her.

Ties that bind..and bond

Years ago, our 17 year old niece wanted to tie a Rakhi for Kanishk who was then 3 year old. He protested vehemently when she wanted to put a tika on this forehead and wanted to know why all this necessary. We told him that this was to show that he should be there to help her if she ever needed any support. And his first reaction was, ' but she's so much bigger than me. How can I help her'. Our prompt reply was, ' Good. Then she can help you when you require it'. They continue to remain connected after 2 decades, and while neither has needed protection or help from each other, the bond remains.

Siblings  can bicker, fight, argue, dislike, even hate one another ..but nothing will be able to stop the heart from feeling a tug when one hears of a sibling in trouble or pain. And we will surely be there for one another. I don't think that needs a day to reinforce that bond.  

But as one grows older, if one is lucky, we also make friends who stand in or add to the number of people we share a bond with. Just the message  'I'll be there for you' is enough to provide confidence that we are not alone, and  support and succour if and when one needs to reach out. Larger the number, the more blessed we are 

It is time to change this day, that was trafitionally celebrated as a promise of protection to the sister by the brother, into what it really should be - a time to strengthen ties, and the promise to be there for one another - for siblings, family and friends 

Pyare Darzi from Mitiaburz

Today a friend sent me a write-up on the links between Wajid Ali Shah and Calcutta, and the article spoke about how he settled in Mitiaburz, thus boosting the economy of the place. Among others, the area became a haven for tailors, who provided customised service to the fashion-conscious settlers who had moved in from Awadh in the 1850s. I suddenly remembered the darzi who used to come to our house in Calcutta when we were children in the late 60s (almost a 100 years later). Thin and frail looking, he smelt of, what I now realise, tobacco.

 

In our house, we got new clothes only for our birthdays and Diwali, and maybe some simple essentials every alternate year before going to our grandparents’ house in Tamil Nadu. However, my mother was the ‘go-to’ person for most service providers – she was the banker for the milkman who supplied fresh cow’s milk to the neighbourhood, while we ourselves went to the kiosk to buy the bottled milk, the shoulder to cry on for drivers who had their quarters on the ground floor below our house. The elderly vendor who sold steel vessels in exchange for old clothes was always assured of a cup of tea in our house. I suppose this is why even if the darzi visited the neighbours more often, he would also land up at our house.

 

Our neighbours were from a well to do business family, and as was the tradition then, they lived in a joint family with lots of children,  so his visits were frequent there. He would come once a month with a package of garments he had stitched. My mother would once in a while give him some fabric pieces that she had kept away for us. While they chatted, and he had his tea, my sister and I would pore over his design books, We loved looking through these books full of very attractive ‘foreign’ people wearing beautiful clothes. After a lot of discussion between my mother and the darzi, and a lot of sketching, out would come his measuring tape.  His visit the following month with our stitched clothes was also a prolonged one. He would insist that we try out each dress that he had stitched, and we were quite used to him walking around us, tugging at a sleeve or a shoulder while we stood still enjoying all the attention.   As we grew a little older, and had lots of other distractions, trying out each dress for the darzi became a chore. However he insisted on seeing each frock worn.  I am not sure when exactly he stopped frequenting our place. Most probably the visits became less frequent after our neighbours moved away. What I do recall is that we had to order some clothes from him and needed to get in touch with him. The mode of communication was a postcard, to an address of a relative that he had given us. I remember the laughter in our house as we wondered as the correct mode of address for him in the letter, as none of us knew his name. Finally the card went out ‘Pyare Darzi Ji’. I suppose the pyare darzi did arrive in response.

 

 I have just realised that when we were children, this tailor was the only Muslim person who had ever stepped into our house and this article made me appreciate this wonderful connection between us, our pyare darzi and Wajid Ali Shah.

 

This is the link to the article.

 

My first ‘elastic’ earnings

Today, while putting some jewellery back into the bank locker, I came across a thin gold chain that I had carefully tucked away in a tiny pouch. In monetary terms, it is not a very valuable chain as it is machine-made, and very short and light, but it is truly precious to me, as it was the first piece of jewellery ‘purchased out of my earnings’.

I was in the first year of college when a Trade Fair was held in Delhi. Thanks to my brother who was then working with a garment export house, I was given a chance to ‘man’ a stall at the Fair for a few hours a day for 8-10 days. For this assignment, I was paid the princely sum of Rs 1000/-. It was a happy day when I received the cheque, and I picked up sweets for the family on my way home. As the family was not small, the sweets created a dent in the 1000/-.  If my memory serves me right, there were tiny gifts for family members, which created a bigger dent in the balance. I also remember buying a gift for my friend, grateful that he waited patiently every evening outside the Fair grounds on all 10 days to ferry me back home on his scooter. All this was even before my cheque went into the bank. 

Defying all logic, like a stretching band of elastic, when the amount finally showed up in my bank passbook, my mother insisted I use the money to buy something solid, which obviously meant gold. We went to the jewellers, and she chose this chain, which cost around 900 rupees. These were days before ATMs and debit cards, so we must have paid cash, and I really can’t remember whether I ever withdrew the money from my account and paid her back. In spite of that, the chain was always referred to as the one I bought out of my earnings.

Every time I see the chain, I remember my parents with gratitude. We were not wealthy, and supporting all my ‘gift’ buying and then buying the gold chain would have not been easy, but I can still remember my mother talking to her friend about how generously I bought something for everyone at home, and also used my money sensibly. How proud I felt then!

Lockdown Day n + n --- Dos and donts

I have given up counting how long it has been since i went up to the junction where the main road meets the road to our home. I am sure it has been over 50 days and I am not missing it at all. Each day, I wake up feeling relieved that everyone is still healthy and then misplaced guilt remembering the migrant labourers who are still on their way to their homes. The ones who stayed behind at their workplaces are being offered crazy work hours, albeit with some additional remuneration, and very few people seem to find anything protest-worthy in the situation! Some dos and dont's that I have realised I need to follow to keep sane:

1. Do NOT discuss politics at home if you're sure the person you are discussing with does not share your same beliefs. - This is suggested not because you are right and the other is wrong, however tempting it is to live with that feeling, but because any discussion could result in a breakdown of communication, and believe me, when you are going to be living in the same house for an indefinite period of time, that is not desirable at all.

2. Speak to loved members of your family often - whatsapp messages are ok most of the time, but a voice call makes a difference. And a video call makes an even bigger difference - the warmth of one good happy call stays within you for a long while. And hopefully, the person(s) at the other end of the call are also a bit happier, less alone and feel loved for a while longer.

3. Read - catch up on all the books that were kept away for a rainy day. It does not get rainier than this surely. A good idea is to have some ebooks stocked up and also two or three hard-copy books strewn around so that there is something to be picked up to browse through, whichever room one walks into.

4. Dress up - do not stay in your night or exercise clothes all day - nothing is more 'laziness-inducing'. Even if the same 4 or 5 sets of clothes are in circulation, and all your saris, formal clothes and fancy accessories are in hibernation, there is some pleasure in getting into fresh clothes everyday.

5. Browse - there are wonderful concerts, talks, readings and podcasts available online. Listen to at least one a day - nothing can be more enervating.

6. Control :
6a. If you are hooked onto any one serial on Netflix or Amazon Prime of Hotstar, restrict yourself to only 1 or 2 episodes per day - binge-watching seems to bring these characters into one's dreams and that's not a happy feeling.

6b. If your hand is hovering over a forward, and you can't instantly think of who to forward it to, just desist. It probably doesn't need to be shared. Same goes for tweets - if you can't think of a suitable comment for a retweet, just don't do it. There are more than enough forwards and tweets already circulating - no one is going to remain uninformed or unaware just because of your not sending that one tweet or forward.

This list could go and on, but these points are only a reminder to myself so I can stop now.  Since I don't overdo the snacks, I fortunately don't have to remind myself to stop eating. And I am exercising adequately so no reminders there either. All in all, I am in a good place and can make the most of it, even while feeling completely useless as far as helping those in need in these troubled times.

Home....

'Should be somewhere at home' - Kanishk said this to me last week, when we were discussing the whereabouts of one his tshirts, and I was surprised on hearing that. 'He WAS home', was my first  thought. Thanks to the lockdown, he had been with us for over 2 months - the longest he had been with us continuously without any travel in between. Thanks to boarding school, and then college and post-graduation away from us, and then setting out on his career, he had not lived with us for a long time, though most of his belongings stayed with us.   The 'home' he was referring to was the flat he had rented just 4 months earlier with his friends. Slowly, over the next few weekends, some of his possessions had moved to his new residence, and now it was 'home'!

I thought of my life in contrast - even as a child, I had never had the luxury of a room of my own. I stayed home while completing my studies, and then while I worked. The possibility of moving away from my parents' home was not even an option. I got married a couple of years later and my husband and I moved into a rented flat. It took a long while for me to be able to call it 'home' - not because it was sparsely furnished or because most of my family was elsewhere, but because I didn't feel any attachment to it. I could only remember and miss the familiar furniture, furnishings, kitchenware that I had left behind. Maybe my mother was also startled the first time I spoke about 'home' referring to my marital home!  I cannot recall when it happened, or even whether she even noticed it. 

Kanishk talking about 'home' just felt like someone has snapped the umblical cord, all over again 24 years later. I am glad he is able to make himself at home so quickly, and I want him to be comfortable, happy and 'at home' wherever he is, but I can only fervently hope that he will always consider this place also as his home.