Okay, I'll admit to being a music snob. All through school and college I was the one into nice old English singers like Elvis, Jim Reeves, Cliff Richards and their ilk. I even made my best friend in college because she knew who Pat Boone was! Of course that was not the only factor, but it was the first time I noticed her for real in Defence Studies class. I was part of the group who kept track of who won the Grammys and what were the acceptable numbers to listen to.
The point I'm trying to make is that Hindi songs and Bollywood music was acceptable for a bit, but there was no way that you admitted listening to tapori numbers or liking them. You had a rep to uphold and had to trash them. No more Ms Snob. It all started with me wanting to join a Salsa class. Well, I did say I was a music snob, unfortunately with no partner the Salsa business was getting difficult to arrange. Instead I was asked to join Jazz as it was a far more independent dance form.
So after dragging a friend of mine to at least five different institutes that taught dance in Dwarka we finally settled on Shiamak Davar's Institute of Performing Arts. Just one problem. They had only Bollywood Jazz available in the adult group. Any how we took the leap and plunged in. It should be ample to say that I'm still no where near surfacing...
Enter Anubhav and Kamal, the dance instructors. They have introduced me to all the tapori Bollywood numbers and have me dancing to them as well. When they first played the song "Dil Garden Garden Ho Gaya" I was just a little stunned. I mean I had to dance to this??? But as I tried to give the choreography a try I found myself sucked into this vortex of fun! It was amazingly liberating and I was actually enjoying the beat and rhythm. Now I'm looking forward to the Monsoon Funk!
31 July 2012
26 June 2012
I am a "Poor Parsi"!
Recently a friend of my called up to console me. She let me know that as per the Bombay Parsi Panchayat, anyone who is earning less that 90,000 rupees a month is considered a "Poor Parsi", and is eligible for some charity being doled out by the Panchayat.
The Parsis have always been an affluent minority with great business acumen. You only have to start taking names when you realize that the Tata's, Godrej's, Wadia's are all from this minority community, but have managed to make a major impact on the Indian Economy.
The community has a lot of money and is also known for its charitable acts. It is only natural that "Charity begins at Home" and the community leaders, aka the Parsi Panchayat, wants to dole out their largess to the not so fortunate members of the community.
Still in a country like ours where every 10th person is living below the poverty line (less than 100 rupees income per day), it does seem humorous that for a Parsi to be considered poor, he or she has to make less than nearly one lakh a month.
That said, since I am definitely not earning that kind of money a month with my freelance writing, I do qualify for the perks that the Parsi Panchayat seems to be keen on extending to me. Only trouble is, I don't think being a One Parent Parsi child will endear me to them much.
The Parsis have always been an affluent minority with great business acumen. You only have to start taking names when you realize that the Tata's, Godrej's, Wadia's are all from this minority community, but have managed to make a major impact on the Indian Economy.
The community has a lot of money and is also known for its charitable acts. It is only natural that "Charity begins at Home" and the community leaders, aka the Parsi Panchayat, wants to dole out their largess to the not so fortunate members of the community.
Still in a country like ours where every 10th person is living below the poverty line (less than 100 rupees income per day), it does seem humorous that for a Parsi to be considered poor, he or she has to make less than nearly one lakh a month.
That said, since I am definitely not earning that kind of money a month with my freelance writing, I do qualify for the perks that the Parsi Panchayat seems to be keen on extending to me. Only trouble is, I don't think being a One Parent Parsi child will endear me to them much.
17 May 2012
How I jumped out of a lift and other adventures
Since I last blogged I have managed to ride in the Airport Express Metro, meet up with a friend after 11 years, design a book cover and jump out of a lift that got stuck between floors. Life, in a word, is HAPPENING! As I'm sure you would all like to know just how I managed to do all this, here are some pertinent details.
Rehaan's summer holidays have begun and so he wanted to go out "Somewhere" and so I decided to give him a ride in the Airport Express Metro. The train and platforms are totally "Sufi"(to borrow Darshi's terminology). The ticket for a ride from one end to the other is 100 bucks. And I was told later that you get some discount if you show them your dependent card, which I did not. You can collect your metro tokens from a vending machine that swallows your money, or if you are more comfortable with a human being, over the ticket counter.The ride is smooth and till the end of the line takes about 45 minutes. There are just six stations and the train stops for five minutes at each station. The time between trains is 15 minutes. That is a long time to keep a child occupied!
Another sad part was the lack of scenery to keep Rehaan distracted. Except for the part near Dhaula Kuan where the train come above ground, the rest of the line is underground and has zero cell phone connectivity. Which explains why I had message after message for missed calls shooting through my cellphone as soon as the train surfaced. The New Delhi station has a good connect to the regular Delhi Metro yellow line. You don't even have to leave the building. I was not too keen on venturing out to the regular railway station side so don't know how far that would be. Still from what I'm told it cant be too far although with a couple of suitcases it may seem more of a distance than it is.
Catching up with old friends is always great and here I am in Delhi with any number of people in the city I did not know were here. 11 years ago I used to play with her kids and her son was in KG then and now I have my own boy in 2nd. How time flies. The book cover ideas were for my uncle's 3rd book. Its all about the Abbottabad incident and I had a nice time looking into ideas that would make an effective cover. Then it was in the lift in uncle's building that I got stuck. The lift was already full of people two guys and two dames, I thought about waiting for the next one, but since they held the door for me I got it. And then the door shut, thelift moved and then stopped. Suddenly there I was, stuck in a lift full of strangers.
Panic is not quite the word since I knew I was not all alone, still it did offer me some bad moments. I called up Uncle and he called the security guard. Thankfully the lift was stuck between the ground floor and first floor midway. So once the guard managed to open the door we all hopped out of the lift by sitting on the floor with our legs dangling out. Not an experience I want to repeat no matter how much excitement it generated. It probably contributed to the upset tummy that I have now. Hopefully that won't last too long. Well, that's all folks, see you next time!
Rehaan's summer holidays have begun and so he wanted to go out "Somewhere" and so I decided to give him a ride in the Airport Express Metro. The train and platforms are totally "Sufi"(to borrow Darshi's terminology). The ticket for a ride from one end to the other is 100 bucks. And I was told later that you get some discount if you show them your dependent card, which I did not. You can collect your metro tokens from a vending machine that swallows your money, or if you are more comfortable with a human being, over the ticket counter.The ride is smooth and till the end of the line takes about 45 minutes. There are just six stations and the train stops for five minutes at each station. The time between trains is 15 minutes. That is a long time to keep a child occupied!
Another sad part was the lack of scenery to keep Rehaan distracted. Except for the part near Dhaula Kuan where the train come above ground, the rest of the line is underground and has zero cell phone connectivity. Which explains why I had message after message for missed calls shooting through my cellphone as soon as the train surfaced. The New Delhi station has a good connect to the regular Delhi Metro yellow line. You don't even have to leave the building. I was not too keen on venturing out to the regular railway station side so don't know how far that would be. Still from what I'm told it cant be too far although with a couple of suitcases it may seem more of a distance than it is.
Catching up with old friends is always great and here I am in Delhi with any number of people in the city I did not know were here. 11 years ago I used to play with her kids and her son was in KG then and now I have my own boy in 2nd. How time flies. The book cover ideas were for my uncle's 3rd book. Its all about the Abbottabad incident and I had a nice time looking into ideas that would make an effective cover. Then it was in the lift in uncle's building that I got stuck. The lift was already full of people two guys and two dames, I thought about waiting for the next one, but since they held the door for me I got it. And then the door shut, thelift moved and then stopped. Suddenly there I was, stuck in a lift full of strangers.
Panic is not quite the word since I knew I was not all alone, still it did offer me some bad moments. I called up Uncle and he called the security guard. Thankfully the lift was stuck between the ground floor and first floor midway. So once the guard managed to open the door we all hopped out of the lift by sitting on the floor with our legs dangling out. Not an experience I want to repeat no matter how much excitement it generated. It probably contributed to the upset tummy that I have now. Hopefully that won't last too long. Well, that's all folks, see you next time!
02 May 2012
My Chicken Soup Article
Tears to Cheers
At the age of 15, life as a fauji brat had taught me to make friends fast as I would lose them within the next two years to Dad’s next posting. I did my 12 years of schooling in 11 different schools. It was not possible to get emotionally attached to anyone or anything in a place because we were always on the move. I had already learnt to keep my friends at a distance because that way, when we left, it would hurt less.
I was always a bit of a tom boy preferring to play games like “Army Training” to “Ghar Ghar”. So it was assumed that I was the rough and tough kinds. I even had a favourite sticker which said “Anything Boys can do Girls can do better.” That is why it was a bit weird to be leaving the fold. To move away from the fauji way of life, the only way of life I had ever known. And I was petrified, not that I showed it but I was more scared than I had ever been in my entire life.
After I completed my tenth class from the worst school that I had ever studied in, I made the most momentous journey of my life. One which took me out of the Army Cantonments that I had grown up in. Away from the regiment and all its Uncles and Aunties who were like a second family. To a big city called Pune. To a strange experience of living away from parents for higher education. The mere thought was scary and challenging and taking me on a roller coaster of emotions.
At the Babina Railway station my father, who naturally did not get leave to come along, said one sentence to me before the train rolled out. I think he sensed the insecurities that were rumbling in my heart and head as we held hands with him standing on the station platform and me on the train. He said, “Remember you are less than nobody.” For a man who is known for his measured words and quiet persona it was quite a statement.
It also became my mantra for survival when I was surrounded by elder and more sophisticated cousins who had the big city all figured out. Thankfully I had continued in a school which had its own share of Army Kids, KVSC. So I was not a complete fish out of water. I put my heart and soul into all the sports and co curricular activities wanting to prove to the world that I was indeed less than nobody.
Each time I missed home I picked up yet another activity to try and excel at. I turned 16 and spent a year pushing myself to my limits. I was insecure about how good I really was. I missed my home, my parents and my familiar way of life. I was tired of having to look after myself and not have that warm hug at the end of the day from my mother. Emotionally I was all over the place and physically I was exhausting myself with all the activities that I had taken up. I was growing up faster than I ever had in the space of one year.
Finally by the end of eleventh class I was emotionally worn out and just burst out crying in the middle of the SUPW period. To say that my classmates were shocked would be an understatement. I howled for no reason apparent. Just sitting there and letting the tears rush out. I wasn’t thinking at all and the physical release of all that pent up emotion felt good. I calmed down, took deep breaths and felt rejuvenated.
Then I came back to the present and saw everyone staring at me. It was mortifying. The lady who taught us was a fauji wife herself and she took me aside and wiped my tears. When she asked me what was wrong, I said nothing. I may have lost it temporarily but I was back in control. A good cry can really help you release emotional stress like no other device I know. Of course it would be better to do it in a more private place.
The next big event in school was the selection of the school prefects for the coming year. I was confident enough of my position as one of the House Captains and thought no more of it till my Biology teacher called me to the Lab. There she asked me if I would have a problem becoming the School Captain.
The School Captain is usually chosen from those students who have been studying longer than a year in the school and I had never even entertained the idea. After the interviews were done I was selected the School Captain. The only thing I wanted to do was tell my parents. A deed easier said than done because STD had not yet reached the little town of Babina at that time. It took me the better part of 6 hours to patch up and finally get connected to the army phone at home.
When I managed to speak to my parents on the phone my mother was overjoyed that I had been nominated. Her excitement mirrored my own and then she handed the phone over to my father. I quickly announced my news to him. My father said just one word, “Good” but I could hear the pride in his voice and I could hear the echo of the words that he had said to me “Remember you are less than nobody.” I felt that I had validated his statement and his belief in me.
Author Bio – The writer is an Army Daughter and an Air Force Wife. She is also blogs at www.cashlash.blogspot.com. After working as a Travel Agent and an HR Trainer she is now a WAHM (Work At Home Mom) who does freelance writing projects.
At the age of 15, life as a fauji brat had taught me to make friends fast as I would lose them within the next two years to Dad’s next posting. I did my 12 years of schooling in 11 different schools. It was not possible to get emotionally attached to anyone or anything in a place because we were always on the move. I had already learnt to keep my friends at a distance because that way, when we left, it would hurt less.
I was always a bit of a tom boy preferring to play games like “Army Training” to “Ghar Ghar”. So it was assumed that I was the rough and tough kinds. I even had a favourite sticker which said “Anything Boys can do Girls can do better.” That is why it was a bit weird to be leaving the fold. To move away from the fauji way of life, the only way of life I had ever known. And I was petrified, not that I showed it but I was more scared than I had ever been in my entire life.
After I completed my tenth class from the worst school that I had ever studied in, I made the most momentous journey of my life. One which took me out of the Army Cantonments that I had grown up in. Away from the regiment and all its Uncles and Aunties who were like a second family. To a big city called Pune. To a strange experience of living away from parents for higher education. The mere thought was scary and challenging and taking me on a roller coaster of emotions.
At the Babina Railway station my father, who naturally did not get leave to come along, said one sentence to me before the train rolled out. I think he sensed the insecurities that were rumbling in my heart and head as we held hands with him standing on the station platform and me on the train. He said, “Remember you are less than nobody.” For a man who is known for his measured words and quiet persona it was quite a statement.
It also became my mantra for survival when I was surrounded by elder and more sophisticated cousins who had the big city all figured out. Thankfully I had continued in a school which had its own share of Army Kids, KVSC. So I was not a complete fish out of water. I put my heart and soul into all the sports and co curricular activities wanting to prove to the world that I was indeed less than nobody.
Each time I missed home I picked up yet another activity to try and excel at. I turned 16 and spent a year pushing myself to my limits. I was insecure about how good I really was. I missed my home, my parents and my familiar way of life. I was tired of having to look after myself and not have that warm hug at the end of the day from my mother. Emotionally I was all over the place and physically I was exhausting myself with all the activities that I had taken up. I was growing up faster than I ever had in the space of one year.
Finally by the end of eleventh class I was emotionally worn out and just burst out crying in the middle of the SUPW period. To say that my classmates were shocked would be an understatement. I howled for no reason apparent. Just sitting there and letting the tears rush out. I wasn’t thinking at all and the physical release of all that pent up emotion felt good. I calmed down, took deep breaths and felt rejuvenated.
Then I came back to the present and saw everyone staring at me. It was mortifying. The lady who taught us was a fauji wife herself and she took me aside and wiped my tears. When she asked me what was wrong, I said nothing. I may have lost it temporarily but I was back in control. A good cry can really help you release emotional stress like no other device I know. Of course it would be better to do it in a more private place.
The next big event in school was the selection of the school prefects for the coming year. I was confident enough of my position as one of the House Captains and thought no more of it till my Biology teacher called me to the Lab. There she asked me if I would have a problem becoming the School Captain.
The School Captain is usually chosen from those students who have been studying longer than a year in the school and I had never even entertained the idea. After the interviews were done I was selected the School Captain. The only thing I wanted to do was tell my parents. A deed easier said than done because STD had not yet reached the little town of Babina at that time. It took me the better part of 6 hours to patch up and finally get connected to the army phone at home.
When I managed to speak to my parents on the phone my mother was overjoyed that I had been nominated. Her excitement mirrored my own and then she handed the phone over to my father. I quickly announced my news to him. My father said just one word, “Good” but I could hear the pride in his voice and I could hear the echo of the words that he had said to me “Remember you are less than nobody.” I felt that I had validated his statement and his belief in me.
Author Bio – The writer is an Army Daughter and an Air Force Wife. She is also blogs at www.cashlash.blogspot.com. After working as a Travel Agent and an HR Trainer she is now a WAHM (Work At Home Mom) who does freelance writing projects.
30 April 2012
What's the news?
Its been a while since an update and its purely because I have been living much more offline than I do online. Being in a place where you can actually go out and see things is great after the last station. In the last three months I have been to a puppet show at the Indian Habitat Center organized by Ishara puppet theater, the largest Mall in India at Gurgaon, and to the internal wholesale markets in the heart of Delhi-6.
Life could not get any better!
In Gaffar Market I discovered a shop that sells all the imported stuff like Mars bars and Toblerones at whole sale rates. Needless to say my purse bottomed out there! Got some amazing bottle shaped liquor chocolates and lots of tinned sardines and tuna stuff as well. Not to mention huge boxes of sweets for Rehaan to distribute in school on his birthday.
Take a look at my shopping haul from that day!
Now the FA1 is almost on us and then we look forward to the summer holidays. Other than that life is busy due to the on and off absence of the part time maid. The water in Dwarka is horrible. It dried out my oily skin! Can not believe how that happened.
Another unbelievable event was my Twitter Account getting hacked. Read the last blog post for details.
Other recent excitement included getting an article of mine published in the Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul - Teens Talk Growing Up. Its a real thrill seeing your name in print, no matter how much you manage to publish online. Am also looking forward to the next issue of Salute Magazine...fingers crossed...you may see yours truly's article printed in it.
Life could not get any better!
In Gaffar Market I discovered a shop that sells all the imported stuff like Mars bars and Toblerones at whole sale rates. Needless to say my purse bottomed out there! Got some amazing bottle shaped liquor chocolates and lots of tinned sardines and tuna stuff as well. Not to mention huge boxes of sweets for Rehaan to distribute in school on his birthday.
Now the FA1 is almost on us and then we look forward to the summer holidays. Other than that life is busy due to the on and off absence of the part time maid. The water in Dwarka is horrible. It dried out my oily skin! Can not believe how that happened.
Another unbelievable event was my Twitter Account getting hacked. Read the last blog post for details.
Other recent excitement included getting an article of mine published in the Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul - Teens Talk Growing Up. Its a real thrill seeing your name in print, no matter how much you manage to publish online. Am also looking forward to the next issue of Salute Magazine...fingers crossed...you may see yours truly's article printed in it.
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