Friday, October 10, 2014
Wednesday, October 08, 2014
Festive Time!
Born a Hindu. Raised in a Christian school and a Sikh colony. Married a Muslim.
Cant really put a finger when I imbibed them all. No, not religions.
The festivals.
Each, when I & my house celebrate, feels like my own. They bring people together, prod to "give back" and ring in celebration of love and life. Festivals, don't just preach unity but put, all what religions stand for, in action. No wonder, they themselves usually come in clusters in a calendar year. That's where my faith lies.
Each, when I & my house celebrate, feels like my own. They bring people together, prod to "give back" and ring in celebration of love and life. Festivals, don't just preach unity but put, all what religions stand for, in action. No wonder, they themselves usually come in clusters in a calendar year. That's where my faith lies.
On that note, Happy Dussehra and Eid night from Hakim, kiddos and me to all our friends out there
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Running to find a missing sock, quick note to teacher, feeding the last bite while tucking kids to school, proofreading a press release on renewable energy, concall with 3 agencies in a row.
Updating the grocery list in the car for the weekend, sticking glitter & sequence for teacher's day card, hurrying up the never ending night session of brushing teeth to gently freeing my hand from under the finally sleepy head to finishing pending emails of the day.
All in a day's work. Nothing beats the diversity in a woman's typical day. Be it a working woman or a housewife.
Updating the grocery list in the car for the weekend, sticking glitter & sequence for teacher's day card, hurrying up the never ending night session of brushing teeth to gently freeing my hand from under the finally sleepy head to finishing pending emails of the day.
All in a day's work. Nothing beats the diversity in a woman's typical day. Be it a working woman or a housewife.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Seeing Good is feeling good!
Pleasure lies in small ‘n’ simple things. Truly. Thanks to this exercise of posting small things each day, which made me happy during the day, I am more aware of the small pleasures of life,... all packed in a day.
1. It’s been a while; I received a love note that too a heart shaped one. What can I say, today is my lucky day
2. A hot steaming cup of tea with a dash of ginger was placed promptly next to my laptop, almost thrice today to combat a nagging painful throat. Thanks mom. Each time it felt divine.
3. Small, not visibly but surely, dirty and sticky hands grabbed & hugged me while making the announcement that she is amongst the 3 shortlisted for the inter-school poetry recitation competition. Was music to my ears, a happy indication that the new school has been adjusted to.
4. No matter what your age is, speaking to your best friends in a day, make-up for just anything missing in your life. Especially when you move to a new town with practically no friends. So a silent prayer goes out, God, please keep them intact in my life.
5. Being a Friday evening, there is lightness in the air. Ok, so no poetry here. Basically cause there is no school or office tomorrow . And we caught a panoramic view of the sky from our balcony. Made me wonder, was I so caught up in a life in metro that didn’t pause to just gaze at such a view?
6. Last night, Saturday was demanded to be a No-Mobile Day. And I accepted the challenge. Promptly, mine was switched off before sleeping and still continues. That’s not where the fun lied. During the day, I cheated thrice . The entire two minute episode of sneaking in a room with my mobile and ...checking for any updates from office and then letting it stretch to a luxurious second of quickly checking FB/Whatssup/ Twitter (till the 7 year old knocked at the door) was so unexpectedly fun like going after the forbidden fruit. Each time running to hide my mobile and opening the door, I smiled and remembered my childhood pranks. Am reliving my childhood with my child.
7. Afternoon we were at a departmental store, mom trying to extract the best out of the exchange deal for cookers and frying pans and I trying to hurry her up. Was unsuccessful. Finally the time came to stand at the cash counter. Never felt so happy to pay and leave. While waiting for the bill to churn out, glanced around. Mom and a middle aged lady, both were sitting on a stool and yapping in Marathi. For a minute I wondered if my memory is giving away. Do I know the lady? Nope. They happily discovered that they both are from Bombay and started chatting. While I had to be the spoilsport to interrupt their budding friendship since we were getting late, (looked like without that, one would have the other over for dinner tonight!) I realised the gravity of my mom’s contribution in my life. She packed her bags at this age just to be with me so that I can work. Thanks mom.
8. After a lot of introspection, realised that it’s true when they say that moving on, doesn’t necessarily mean giving up. It just means moving from denial to acceptance and letting it go. Many times, many of us keeping torturing ourselves because we are not able to let go. Let go and make peace with yourself.
9. Study time is an inter-play of lessons & drawing. Lots of studies took place today which means lots of drawing too. After weeks, a carefree cub was finally captured and made to sit next to me with her books. Drawings ranged from good, bad to downright ......(no not sounding mean, just being plain honest ). Each time, a Picasso was done; the page was thrust right under my nose and asked to be evaluated. Each time I donned the role of an evaluator with an air of authority, a 9 was promptly prompted and then with a heavy heart, included an 8 too. So had two choices, only. But what took the cream is the sheet of stickers which each time, was shoved, for me to do the needful. Democracy rules in India but has definitely not reached my house.
10.We have our Punjabi genes very much in place. Which means we have our natural dancing shoes always on and can spring into action at the drop of a hat. Today morning during breakfast, kid & I, both did just that in our living room on the music of Jungle Book II. What started as graceful dance moves soon gave way to real bad to outright weird ones. And a natural progression to a competition as to who will come up with the most outrageously funny moves with funnier expressions. And the house came down with laughter. The two worlds suddenly struck me. A PR head of an MNC on weekdays and a crazy mom on weekends.
11. It’s not happy people who are thankful, it is thankful people who are happy. So just one shot for us to be both. Not bad. Am on it :-)
Monday, July 14, 2014
Hyderabad Hues
July 2014- While the two states continue to fight for water & electricity amongst many things and the slowness of the staff in malls here, drives me up the wall, Ramzan brightens this city, like no other I have seen. The Chudi Bazaar at Charminar, the Haleem festival and the number of road side eateries surpassing the population on road, marks this month here. Even if you are not the bling types, the bazaar just grows on you & you'll end up buying from the vast variety of chudis & other knick-knacks. Two months of #HyderabadHues
May 2014- Hindi with a curly twist at the end. By the time you finish drying clothes, have to start lifting them. Every time I introduce, we are from Bombay, Sarah corrects, "Mumma it's Mumbai". Mom is still searching for some Bombay news in Hyderabad Times. 20 days of #HyderabadHues
April 2014- From Queen's Necklace to City of Pearls. Heavy heart, misty eyes & emotions running all over the place. Leaving behind my home, family, friends & neighbors, all who completed our life here but taking loads of cherished memories with me. Good bye. —
feeling emotional with Hakim BadshahFriday, November 22, 2013
Monday, April 01, 2013
Other than own mother.....
Yesterday night, with one of her story books in hand, Zeni came up to me, interrupting my desperate attempt at catching up with the day’s newspapers.
“Mumma, you are not my stepmother na?” Taking a fraction of second to collect my wits, I replied “no”. She gave a relieved look. “Yeah, ‘cause they are very bad na….so you are only my Mumma without the word ‘step’ na”, she confirmed her doubt in her signature style of speaking. That’s how we are presently learning new words in English by breaking them for easier pronunciation. All I could, was manage a nod. Now the relieved look became more pronounced, almost breaking into a smile and she turned her back and left the room.
Kept staring at her long gone back before returning to my newspapers. The mind didn’t follow the eyes. Zeni filled it with so many random thoughts, all rushing in. The first and immediate one that struck me was that the adoption process of ‘me’ as a mother seems to be reaching its final stage of completion with the validation phase going one. Consoling thought. After this personal evaluation of the brief exchange of words, the thoughts moved to being more objective in nature.
Why have our story books and movies type casted “Stepmothers”? There is only one category: Cinderella’s mother, rather stepmother. It’s really unfair to all those mothers who are raising kids, not their own. If motherhood comes naturally to mothers then doesn’t it take much more effort to be a mother to someone else’s kid? In fact by that logic, a stepmother ‘gives’ herself much more to the respective kid, family and society. I remember in the first month of Zeni joining our family, while both the kids were dancing, my eyes followed their own will and kept resting on Sarah. I had to school myself into looking at Zeni at regular intervals. I let the acquired motherhood take on till the induced natural mother takes over for Zeni. And time did help me. Today yes, being a mom to two daughters has become natural to me.
Brings me to the point I was making earlier. Unlike the books they read, let’s not generalize stepmothers for our kids and belittle sincere efforts of so many moms out there who are raising kids other their own, thanks to destiny or out of their own choice. …
This April, completed two years as ‘the’ adopted mother. And the journey continues….
“Mumma, you are not my stepmother na?” Taking a fraction of second to collect my wits, I replied “no”. She gave a relieved look. “Yeah, ‘cause they are very bad na….so you are only my Mumma without the word ‘step’ na”, she confirmed her doubt in her signature style of speaking. That’s how we are presently learning new words in English by breaking them for easier pronunciation. All I could, was manage a nod. Now the relieved look became more pronounced, almost breaking into a smile and she turned her back and left the room.
Kept staring at her long gone back before returning to my newspapers. The mind didn’t follow the eyes. Zeni filled it with so many random thoughts, all rushing in. The first and immediate one that struck me was that the adoption process of ‘me’ as a mother seems to be reaching its final stage of completion with the validation phase going one. Consoling thought. After this personal evaluation of the brief exchange of words, the thoughts moved to being more objective in nature.
Why have our story books and movies type casted “Stepmothers”? There is only one category: Cinderella’s mother, rather stepmother. It’s really unfair to all those mothers who are raising kids, not their own. If motherhood comes naturally to mothers then doesn’t it take much more effort to be a mother to someone else’s kid? In fact by that logic, a stepmother ‘gives’ herself much more to the respective kid, family and society. I remember in the first month of Zeni joining our family, while both the kids were dancing, my eyes followed their own will and kept resting on Sarah. I had to school myself into looking at Zeni at regular intervals. I let the acquired motherhood take on till the induced natural mother takes over for Zeni. And time did help me. Today yes, being a mom to two daughters has become natural to me.
Brings me to the point I was making earlier. Unlike the books they read, let’s not generalize stepmothers for our kids and belittle sincere efforts of so many moms out there who are raising kids other their own, thanks to destiny or out of their own choice. …
This April, completed two years as ‘the’ adopted mother. And the journey continues….
Saturday, February 02, 2013
Yet Another Wake Up Call
Life, for most of us, most of the time, runs liked a well planned script. We plan our days/weeks/months and even years. Yes, sometimes we do see some alterations to the script. Either due to developments in our own track or parallel tracks. Reminds me of the world being referred to a stage.
The beginning of the year (which always holds a unique ability of seeming promising) landed me in the hosp...ital. My second stint in less than 5 years. The last time it was an accident. Pun intended. This time it was no accident, instead a valid biological response to my doings. I ignored a pain since months until it lost its patience and ended me as a patient. Like my friend Sapna Prabhakaran rightly pointed out, we, in the pursuit of playing our assigned characters (parent, spouse, caretaker, provider etc.), tend to overlook ourselves.
In the following days, the entire episode of leaving the house with kids tucked in and bracing myself for a surgery, shrunk to insignificance against the discovery of a tumor being subjected to malignancy test. I was all brave and prepared (at least at that point of time) but the mother of two kids, was petrified. Hakim’s 20 minutes commute to the test lab was the longest I ever lived. Managed to sit against stacked pillows and nervous fingers fumbled across the tweets on my mobile. Needed that distraction. Seemed as if I was clinging to life and hoping with all my heart during those stretching minutes. Sounds dramatic now but trust me it isn’t when YOU are on the hot seat. Until Hakim called and said “Piyu, its all clear.”
And I wept like a child until late night for myself and then for each and every person I know/knew who didn't get this chance of hearing the good news. Like my friend Rahul Anand rightly said “The other side of life is just a moment away…”
And now while I am counting, hopefully the last few days of post surgery pain, some big time thanks are in order. Second time in less than 5 years, mom and Hakim Badshah held the fort with all the compassion and strength I needed. Thank you guys. Also grateful for the constant calls/sms from friends, cousins and family, regularly checking on me. Special thanks to Fatema Lakdawala and Rajni Bhatia for being there for me and us. And yeah Payal Sanghvi, I owe a thank-you to Pankaj too for his genuine thoughtfulness.
Coming back to the objective of my post, we are reminded often, of lessons of life. Life keeps putting us or people around us on a test mode to make us realize what we miss while we are looking for other things. And we do get jolts of reality with our/others’ experiences. Still, with any short gap in these experiences, we forget to revise our lessons. Here’s one for me from this experience….
At the risk of sounding repetitive to my friends, take an annual health checkup. You owe to yourself and your family
Do stop when you receive any signal from your body. And check on it. (assuming none of us here, are hypochondriacs )
However clichéd it sounds, live the moments. Take time to enjoy your kids, family and friends. Make memories.
The beginning of the year (which always holds a unique ability of seeming promising) landed me in the hosp...ital. My second stint in less than 5 years. The last time it was an accident. Pun intended. This time it was no accident, instead a valid biological response to my doings. I ignored a pain since months until it lost its patience and ended me as a patient. Like my friend Sapna Prabhakaran rightly pointed out, we, in the pursuit of playing our assigned characters (parent, spouse, caretaker, provider etc.), tend to overlook ourselves.
In the following days, the entire episode of leaving the house with kids tucked in and bracing myself for a surgery, shrunk to insignificance against the discovery of a tumor being subjected to malignancy test. I was all brave and prepared (at least at that point of time) but the mother of two kids, was petrified. Hakim’s 20 minutes commute to the test lab was the longest I ever lived. Managed to sit against stacked pillows and nervous fingers fumbled across the tweets on my mobile. Needed that distraction. Seemed as if I was clinging to life and hoping with all my heart during those stretching minutes. Sounds dramatic now but trust me it isn’t when YOU are on the hot seat. Until Hakim called and said “Piyu, its all clear.”
And I wept like a child until late night for myself and then for each and every person I know/knew who didn't get this chance of hearing the good news. Like my friend Rahul Anand rightly said “The other side of life is just a moment away…”
And now while I am counting, hopefully the last few days of post surgery pain, some big time thanks are in order. Second time in less than 5 years, mom and Hakim Badshah held the fort with all the compassion and strength I needed. Thank you guys. Also grateful for the constant calls/sms from friends, cousins and family, regularly checking on me. Special thanks to Fatema Lakdawala and Rajni Bhatia for being there for me and us. And yeah Payal Sanghvi, I owe a thank-you to Pankaj too for his genuine thoughtfulness.
Coming back to the objective of my post, we are reminded often, of lessons of life. Life keeps putting us or people around us on a test mode to make us realize what we miss while we are looking for other things. And we do get jolts of reality with our/others’ experiences. Still, with any short gap in these experiences, we forget to revise our lessons. Here’s one for me from this experience….
At the risk of sounding repetitive to my friends, take an annual health checkup. You owe to yourself and your family
Do stop when you receive any signal from your body. And check on it. (assuming none of us here, are hypochondriacs )
However clichéd it sounds, live the moments. Take time to enjoy your kids, family and friends. Make memories.
Monday, August 01, 2011
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Race Against Time
"But maam, it's a very simple procedure to enroll in individual capacity". That was the third time she was repeating herself, convincing me to join the Mumbai Marathon slated for Jan 16th. While, my one way communication was focused on every possible support offering towards the NGO and its cause. I offered to make their communication pack; circulate the same to my forums and friends in the corporate world. What else do they need? But she was adamant. And didn't know the facts.
More than six years back, I was in Bombay and had a similar invitation. Was always interested to run for the various NGOs I deal with but inertia and procrastination took the better of me. No, to be precise, I had the cushion of "if not this year, I have the next year". After all, Mumbai Marathon is a yearly affair. Then around four years back, work took me to Chennai. And I participated as a TV viewer wishing to be back to Bombay and take part in the same. I did return to Bombay but was on my maternity leave. There, went another year of missing the marathon. Again followed the race through its live and press coverage. But had no regrets. "It's just a matter of this year. Next year I am going to run."
It's been three years since my accident. I can't run. Earlier I had the choice to run. Today I don't. I am here in Mumbai and all willing to take part but can't. The women at the other end of the phone interrupted my reverie. "Its only 3500/- rupees for individual participation"...
If we were told, one not-so- fine day, that we have few months to live, why would we drastically change our living from the way we live now? Assume, we would begin living every second of our lives, doing everything we always wanted to do, acknowledging and appreciating our loved ones and yes feeling sorry for letting so many chances and opportunities go by.
Wonder why we don't live like that now. Especially when we have no clue on how long we will live.
More than six years back, I was in Bombay and had a similar invitation. Was always interested to run for the various NGOs I deal with but inertia and procrastination took the better of me. No, to be precise, I had the cushion of "if not this year, I have the next year". After all, Mumbai Marathon is a yearly affair. Then around four years back, work took me to Chennai. And I participated as a TV viewer wishing to be back to Bombay and take part in the same. I did return to Bombay but was on my maternity leave. There, went another year of missing the marathon. Again followed the race through its live and press coverage. But had no regrets. "It's just a matter of this year. Next year I am going to run."
It's been three years since my accident. I can't run. Earlier I had the choice to run. Today I don't. I am here in Mumbai and all willing to take part but can't. The women at the other end of the phone interrupted my reverie. "Its only 3500/- rupees for individual participation"...
If we were told, one not-so- fine day, that we have few months to live, why would we drastically change our living from the way we live now? Assume, we would begin living every second of our lives, doing everything we always wanted to do, acknowledging and appreciating our loved ones and yes feeling sorry for letting so many chances and opportunities go by.
Wonder why we don't live like that now. Especially when we have no clue on how long we will live.
Monday, October 25, 2010
So what's your good deed for this Diwali?
It was just a day left for Diwali festivities to begin. Outside, it looked like the whole world was preparing for all the fun and gaiety which comes along with the festival. But we were inside. Inside the hospital, sitting on the spare bed, trying our best to make the inside atmosphere, if not festive, atleast a little lighter with our banter. While Didi was going thru her chemotherapy. Not sure which one, had lost count in the past two years. Didi was in pain. But as usual, hiding it behind one of her sunny smiles.
That day, the hospital was nearly empty. Didi didn’t have her usual ‘friends’ who came for their chemos and shared their experiences while the injections worked on them. The staff was busy decorating the walls with flowers and lights. One of the nurses told us that they were entitled for half day and were free to leave once all patients were gone. Didi heard this and was all pale. The fact that she was holding the nurses back was far more painful to her than the injection and her sore body. She apologized to them for the same and we could see hearts melting. Such thoughtfulness from a person who was buying time from death with these painful chemos. That was didi for us. She immediately asked us to remove money from her purse and give Diwali baksheesh to the staff. And we did what we were told, fighting our tears back behind forced smiles. And the list goes on of her generosity. While fighting cancer with all its pain and suffering, she never lost her ‘touch’ of loving people and 'giving' whatever she could. For me she is the epitome of 'Giving'. But life did gave up on her, last November…
The Art of Giving is nothing but exploring simple ways in our hectic lives to ‘give’. You don’t have to go to great extents, think of easy and effortless ways to make a difference this Diwali.
- Stop your car at non-peak hours next to a roadside pavement and give used toys and clothes. The beaming faces of the kids will be fresh in your memory for a long time to go. And yes tag your kid along for an unspoken lesson of life.
- Visit an orphanage and gift a Diwali to its inmates. Whatever it you can give. Might be one of the rare Diwalis they would have in their entire life
- If you can slightly reduce the budget for gifts for relatives, instead surprise your maids and drivers this year with something more than you usually offer.
- Give cards and gifts of only NGOs for passive giving
There are many more such ideas. Have spelled some here which work for me. What will work for you…bring it on!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Sunday, May 10, 2009
DNA Mothers Day Special
Cheers to all working Moms !!!
The mommy diaries
Kareena N Gianani Sunday, March 8, 2009 3:23 IST
Mumbai: For a woman, choosing to be a stay-at-home mum or pursuing a high-flying career after having a child can be the most defining decision. On International Women's Day, DNA presents the stories of three women in Mumbai who grappled with this conflict within themselves in different ways.
'At 2, my daughter knows I'm a career woman'
Priya Badshah's two-year-old daughter, Sara, is as determined as her mother -- try offering her a chocolate and she refuses politely.The tot calmly accepts that any family member, even her doll, if not around, must have a busy day at 'office'.
"Inculcating such understanding at a young age hasn't come easy," says the 33-year-old mother who juggles with her career as senior manager of corporate communication at a leading life insurance company.
Springing back to work after a four-month-long maternity leave seemed the most obvious choice for Badshah.However, when Sara was a month old, Badshah met with an accident that rendered her immobile for six months. She went back to work after a year, limping and anxious about leaving her child back home. "I was headstrong -- I wanted both, my child and my career."
Thus began her tightrope walk. On a flight, Badshah cannot afford to mull over files -- instead, every minute is spent introspecting what Sara should be introduced to next, whether her diet needs new elements or whether building blocks must be introduced in her play. So, Sara finds her mother returning from work one day and telling her stories -- not about Cinderalla, but those that teach her good manners in the guise of 'fun'. She finds herself constantly having to snap in and out of the two roles.
Her doggedness to find a middle path gives Badshah enough reason to feel guilty at times and become pessimistic.
For instance, if Sara misbehaves, Badshah's paranoia convinces her that she's "all wrong as a mother." Or, when she missed two open house meetings at Sara's playschool, she herself couldn't bring herself to work due to guilt.
"It is a struggle to shake yourself up and stick to the choices you've made for yourself. For instance, I choose to weigh what I bring to Sara's growth as an independent, confident role model vis-à-vis a stay-at-home mum." She clarifies that she isn't running down a homemaker's role. "It's just that I wouldn't be a satisfied individual. Would I make a good mother then? It is impossible."
Opting for this path means waking up Sara as she slept in Badshah's lap because she had make a dash for office. "Excuse the cliché, but every mother will tell you this -- it felt criminal to wake her up when she looked so angelic... and I had to snap out of it the moment I got into my car and pored over office documents," she says, the conflict clearly visible.
In these circumstances, it may be the easiest thing to overindulge Sara but Badshah stands firm. Instead of expensive toys and lavish parties, Sara's birthday gifts include spending 10 days out of town with her otherwise busy parents. "And no, the maid is not tagged along. It is me who Sara has at her beck and call," says Badshah proudly.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
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