SWEET SEASON

        So, the festive season is open officially, so to speak.  Time when expenses skyrocket, when every purse seems shallow.  No wonder our poor MPs are fighting tooth and nail for their pay hike.  The festive season is when I can pack my guilt in a big iron box, lock it up, throw the keys away and merrily binge on every imaginable variety of sweetmeats for the rest of the year.

            But the dampener is the preparation part of it.  The adventurous lot try the extreme stuff for their adrenaline rush.  Some set out on long voyages across the oceans, some trek through dense jungles crawling with the man-eaters, some others scale the tallest mountains, while I choose to make sweets.  That is the biggest adventure of all.   I may set out to make “X”, end up with “Y” which looks like “Z” but tastes like none of the above!  My sweet-making sessions can beat even the most action-packed, adventure-filled, nail-biting, edge-of-the-seat thriller by its sheer unpredictability.  Over the years, these sessions have taught me one valuable lesson-NEVER to announce my plans in advance.  That saves me from a lot of ribbing from family and friends for my serendipitous results.

            But my dish would definitely have a fancy, catchy name like Jilpa Jelly or Modak Medley.  Not bad, huh?  Guess, it’s guys with a scientific bent of mind that lack imagination.  Want proof?  Just look at those lab guys in London who’ve named the Super bug as “New Delhi metallo-beta-lactamase 1 (NDM-1)”.  In the process, they have unintentionally provided   fodder for our news-starved 24 x 7 news channels to debate their hearts out all through the day and night at the audacity of these ‘goras’ to dare name the Super bug after our beloved capital city.

            It’s an entirely different matter altogether that New Delhi is now synonymous with the loot and plunder going on in the name of Common Wealth Games.  Our politicos and babus took the Common Wealth Games too literally and walked away with the wealth thinking it was common to all!  Forget about naming my sweet, we’d better rename the Common Wealth Games as the Common Games as the wealth is already gone!

NOMADIC HOARDERS

Anyone who has had to move homes need not be told what an absolutely tiresome experience it is.  And the more frequently it is done, the more horrific, even the mere thought of it, turns out to be.  I’m yet to recover from the last move and am still having nightmares!

Packing up is when we know how much clutter we have accumulated over the years and the unnecessary baggage that we carry, both physically and emotionally.  Letting go of both needs a lot of maturity and will power.  But more than that, it calls for some sleight of  hand and hoodwinking other members of the family to retain our stuff and throw out theirs.

None can probably beat us in hoarding things.  While sorting out the stuff in the boxes, these are some of the things I've discovered that hubby actually packed:

• Notes taken down in class-circa 1975.
• Old telephone directories.
• Two carrier bags full of scraps of material.
• Obsolete Computer magazines.

Well, I’ve listed below the things which hubby feels are redundant, but which after a prolonged argument (which you know who won), I managed to squeeze into Box No. 151:

• Those little sachets of salt and sugar you get with your meal on planes.
• Unopened, still gift-wrapped dinner/tea sets.
• Collection of comics which I probably read as a pre-schooler.
• My size 26 jeans which I optimistically save for future use.

We have been lugging around all this stuff untiringly for quite a few years now.  But when I think of the cradle that I used as a child still lying in my parents’ home, I feel a lot better!  Atleast I’m not that bad a hoarder!

KISSA KURSI KA

            The other day my friend and I had been to a restaurant.  The seats were rather low–almost touching the floor, with bamboo slats lined up and bound together which made an uneasy backrest and seat.   My friend, unaccustomed to the seating arrangement had to struggle a wee bit to squat cross-legged on the low seat.  He realized how unwieldy his legs were-they just refused to remain tucked up!  To add to his woes was his slight paunch, which was getting in the way and jammed too much for comfort in the yogic posture that he was bravely trying to adopt.  I am sure he would have, or rather, could have only half-filled his stomach that day.

            That made me wonder about the vast variety of chairs that are available in the market these days.  Earlier, the types of chairs could probably be counted on the fingers of a single hand.  A few rattan (cane) chairs, wire chairs, steel chairs, wooden chairs were all that you could choose from.  But these days in the name of ergonomic designs, we get to see metals, fibre, plastic and many such stuff twisted into all shapes imaginable, not always easy on the eye (and the behind too, at times)!
         Mention chairs and it immediately brings to mind my father’s armchair.  During my childhood, father’s armchair was the centre of attraction in our sit-out.  It is a family heirloom beautifully carved out of shining teak wood.  I would wait for father to finish his morning papers accompanied by piping hot tea.  When he left for his bath, it would be my turn to enjoy the comfort of the armchair.  Even now, it is a different experience altogether to relax on that chair.  It lulls me to sleep in no time!  It is not just about ergonomics, it has a lot to do with nostalgia, probably.

CELLULOID STARS

           The mugshot was quite attractive really.  Seemed a well-built, tall chap.  It was a friend request on Facebook.  I checked out his profile.  It was mentioned ‘Actor” against  ‘Work’.  Was he really an actor or was he shamming it?

            May be he was an actor doing ‘bit’ roles-one of the numerous extras that pass through the screen, sometimes without uttering even a single syllable.  But then there are actors who have managed to make their co-stars look insignificant even without uttering a single word. Satish Shah and Nagesh who played corpses from the movies “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron” and “Magalir Mattum” flash past my mind immediately.  Cases where non-performers upstaged the performers.

            One of my friends does have the distinction of featuring in a movie.  During our school days, an Associate Director of a movie came scouting for kids to act alongside the “Superstar”.  We were excited about it and our night and days were filled with Technicolor dreams of our future celluloid glory.  The D-day came and we gathered hopefully.  The Associate Director was not sufficiently impressed by me whereas my friend was selected. 

Cut to a few months later, we had all assembled to watch the movie featuring my friend.  With bated breath we waited for the song featuring her.  And she shrieks gleefully “That’s me, that’s me!!”.  I cannot spot her.  I ask her repeatedly.  “Don’t you see the one next to the flower pot? That’s me!” she says proudly.  Well, now I see her-all covered up from head to toe in a cute pink bunny rabbit costume with not an inch of skin showing!!

Well, that brings to my Facebook star-I have no means of knowing if his acting experience was similar to that of my friend.  I rejected his friend request!

TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY

To know the value of one year... ask the student who failed the final exam.
To know the value of one month... ask the mother of a premature baby.
To know the value of one week... ask the editor of a weekly newsmagazine.
To know the value of one day... ask the wage earner who has six children.
To know the value of one hour... ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.
To know the value of one minute... ask the person who missed the plane.
To know the value of one second... ask the person who survived the accident.
To know the value of one millisecond... ask the Olympic silver medalist.

       
     This was in my mailbox the other day.  Though we may not have gone through all the above experiences personally, we surely can relate to each one of them.  After all, time is equally dear to all of us.

         Time holds a fascination for many of us.  During my school days, after watching a few sci-fi movies like ‘Back to the Future’,  I used to imagine myself being on the time machine of Doc Brown and the immense possibilities that it would open to me. 

        Would it not be wonderful if one were to travel back in time?  If we had realized the value of our carefree childhood days, would we have savored them better?  We are no saints and given an opportunity, there may be many wrongs which we would like to set right.  I can recollect quite a few occasions I was cruel or unkind to my dear ones without the thought that they may leave us never to return.  How I would like to erase those incidents! 

“There are some hours which are taken from us, 

  some which are stolen from us, 

  and some which slip from us.”
"The moments we forego...
   Eternity itself cannot retrieve."

       The present hides the future from us, a veil which offers no glimpse into the black hole that is our future.  Wisdom lies in living life to the fullest today, with no regrets for yesterday and no anxieties about tomorrow.  As Scarlett O’Hara famously says “After all, tomorrow is another day!”.  May be some day I will be wise enough to realize that! Time indeed, is a sacred gift, and each day is a little life. 

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

            One of my  friends remarked that ever since we planned our summer  vacation, verses have elbowed out prose on my blog.  I could sense that he was green about his gills with my so-called poems and was hardly in a condition to take any more of the stuff.  So if this post comes as a welcome change then the credit goes to him and if not, well, the author’s to be blamed.

 

            Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, 
bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, 
brown paper packages tied up with strings, 
these are a few of my favorite things. 

This snippet from ‘The Sound of Music’ wafted through the air and that gave me the topic for my blogpost-‘A few of my favorite things’

o       Topping the list would be listening to good music, preferably  violin or flute in a dimly lit/dark room

o       Traveling with windows rolled down, feeling the wind on your face (never mind getting your hair messed up)

o       Watching the skies darken, awaiting the drizzle and catching the first rain drop in your face

o       Scared out of your wits by the flash of lightning but still awaiting the loud clap of thunder

o       When a big wave surprises you on the beach and soaks you to your skin

o       Walking bare-foot on the lawns feeling the grass tickling your feet

o       Starting your Sunday with a steaming cuppa and marathon session of newspaper reading without anxious glances at the clock

o       And, of course, the smell of wet earth soaking up the first rain drops

The list doesn’t quite end here.  But I can hear my friend’s stern warning to keep it short.  So, may be, whoever reads this can add to this list?  Now, wouldn’t that be lovely?

VACATION BLUES

            It is summer time again in our part of the world, which is bang in the Torrid Zone.  The time when the trees start looking jaded and faded, not unlike our over-worked cricketers; when the streets are filled with pushcarts laden with gassed mangoes; when water taps start imitating air pumps; when power cuts push us back to the ‘dark ages’.

        
                Summer means different things to different people.  For people living in the colder climes, summer is a welcome season.  Basking in the glorious golden rays of sunshine is an event which is looked forward to throughout the year.  Summer brings with it vacation for the children.  Brats of assorted sizes with time on their hands create a racket all through the day.  Gully cricket claims quite a few window panes and car wind shields as its victims.  Hapless parents are at their wits end trying to reign in their hyperactive pesky offspring.

            Summer also brings worry of a different kind.  This is the time that most families pack their bags and trudge with their luggage to salubrious locales.  The pot-bellied uncles and roly-poly aunties with their kith and kin in tow decide to bestow their benign presence on the sundry hill stations. It is quite understandable that everyone wants to capture their wonderful holiday moments for posterity on digital/video camera.  But the part which is sheer torture comes later-the forcible viewing of the holiday albums and video recordings.  Why would anyone be interested if Papaji went boating wearing his brand new coolers or Junior soiled his sneakers playing in the snow?  But we are never deterred by a few disinterested snorts, are we?

         Well, I may just decide to holiday someplace cool and happening pretty soon.  After all that hysterical raving and disgusted ranting about click-happy vacationers who are bugs in human form, if you thought that I would stay away from cameras-well, you are way off the mark.  Watch out for my holiday photos/videos, friends!  That is my modus operandi for avenging the tortures inflicted upon me.  After all, revenge is a dish best served cold!

PROJECT BLOGGING

            When I took my baby steps on Blogosphere a couple of years ago, I was all chuffed up, raring to go and conquer the length and breadth of the World Wide Web.  What I had not bargained for was the various obstacles strewn on my path towards blogging glory.

            To start with, I was clueless about the kind of topics I should choose to write.  Would anyone be benefited if I write about ‘The best excuses for missing work’? How relevant would be the topic ‘An idiot’s guide to cooking ready-to-eat food’?  How many people would give a damn if I were to write about ‘What would happen if sea water were to lose its salinity’?     

The next hurdle confronted me-frequency of my posts.   How often should I blog?  Someone said, not too often, lest you are considered a spammer.  Another said, don’t make yourself scarce on Blogosphere, else you are sure to be forgotten (It’s an altogether different matter that people, after reading my posts, wish they could).   So I was damned if I did and doomed if I didn’t.

           

            Then came the dilemma over the form of writing to adopt.  Should it be prose, poetry or story?  What I call as poetry may seem nothing but a mushy soufflé of unintelligible words to the indifferent reader.  And, of course, I didn’t have the luxury of opting to tell a tale, for the simple reason that I didn’t know how to spin an interesting yarn.  That left with me with plain prose.  Now, this essay form is a bit tricky to handle.  It is not as if you had a story to tell.  Anyone will listen to a story.  But to manage to trick and trap a reader who has strayed on to your blog, takes more than a little effort with my kind of narration. 

Well, now that I have managed to plunge into the big blog world, I’m hoping that atleast a handful of gullible netizens fall prey to my devious designs.  You see, I’m an incorrigible optimist!

             

FEMALE FUNNY BONE

            A friend of mine who is forced to acquire the habit of reading my blogposts (no doubt due to my constant nagging) commented that I need to take a less serious view of life.  Another friend expressed the diametrically opposite view that I ought to stop being flippant about serious issues.  Now, that set me wondering-do I lack a sense of humor, or more generally speaking, is the funny bone missing in women?  My friend probably thinks that when God made Eve out of Adam’s bone, He definitely did not choose the funny bone for the job!

           

            Mention comedy stars and that immediately brings to mind mostly male actors like Billy Crystal, Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, Eddie Murphy, whereas female actors like Whoopi Goldberg are far and few in between.  This is not the case in Hollywood but even in Indian movies irrespective of the language, the situation is almost the same. 

           Commuting to my college a couple of decades ago was made incredibly interesting and exciting by the incomparable evergreen literary genius P.G. Wodehouse.  Many a day have I laughed out loud unmindful of my surroundings after reading the adventures of the eccentric Lord Emsworth, the scatter-brained Bertie Wooster, the ingenious Jeeves, the resourceful Psmith, an assortment of domineering aunts and bumbling uncles, and of course, the prized pig, the Empress of Blandings.  There are quite a few writers who handle humor with ease like Henry Cecil and Terry Pratchett, not to mention the classic authors like Mark Twain and Jerome K. Jerome.  But no female writer comes to mind immediately with equal fervor (well, after thinking for a while I could come up with Nora Ephron).

           
         Not only in the kaleidoscopic world of the rich and famous celebrities, even in real life rarely have I come across women who can see the humor in everyday life.  Why do women take themselves and the world seriously-or atleast more seriously as compared to men?  Is their genetic make-up to blame? Or are they so burdened with their worries that they forget to appreciate the humor in their life?  Viewing this from an Indian point of view I would like to think that it is more about the way women are brought up. They are expected to behave in a certain way in society and the transgressions/deviations from the set path are not viewed charitably.  It would indeed be a rare sight to see a woman guffawing in a public place. 

            
          A woman may view the world humorously but still not be confident enough to express it in public.  It is only when she is comfortable with and confident of herself that all aspects of her personality blossom fully.  That may be the reason that, more often than not, it is the middle-aged women who come across as humorous.   May be I, along with my sisters need to let our hair down more often, treat the burdens we carry on our shoulders a little lightly, learn to ignore the swords of life’s uncertainties over our heads and unlearn our conditioning by this society.  Well, this is my serious take on humor!

MOBILE MANIA

         Once upon a time there used to be people who would yearn for their mobiles to beep/ring/screech/tinkle/sing/vibrate, or whatever it is that it is set to do when there is an incoming message.  With a smile on their lips, a crinkle in the corner of their eyes and a song in their heart, the tiny button on their mobiles would be pressed.  And out would pop a message, clever/funny/silly/rude/motivating/mushy/inspiring/informative-depending entirely on the tastes and interests of the sender and the receiver.  When the mobile turns mute for long, it leads to anxious moments.  The button gets pressed at regular intervals and checked to confirm, if indeed, the instrument is alive and kicking.  The SMS tone was literally music to the receiver’s ears-well, melody lies in the ears of the beholder.

        Then came the second stage, when it moved on from purely personal purposes to business purposes also.  Realizing the reach of the short messages, the pesky marketing chaps started peddling their wares and assorted services.  Everything from health hints to career guidance to love tips was compressed to fit your mobile screen and made available at your ‘finger tips’.  That is when the mobile started turning from an object of pleasure to a monster of hate.  Desperate situations call for devious solutions-and solve them, we did.  Haven’t we mastered the art of barely glancing through the sender’s name/number and decide the worth of the message and trash it promptly without batting an eyelid, that too, without even reading the message fully? 

            Now we have come a full circle and back to the days when SMS is always welcome but now, it’s thrill of a different kind.  Most of us have moved on to the bigger, better Twitter/Facebook/Orkut/MySpace and so, mobile messages which notify the status updates/tweets/scraps/comments/pokes from family/friends/co-workers to us are eagerly awaited.  The older version of SMS restricted interactions to just two people, whereas Social Media Networking brings many of our friends within its folds and leads to interesting exchanges.  We can hardly wait to catch up with our friends’ latest adventures, wise-cracks, photo albums, heart-breaks, gossips-all in real time.  It is quite obvious that the world is indeed shrinking.

            That brings me to my part of the story. I am on my eighth mobile now in as many years.  Don’t let that make you hastily conclude how fickle-minded women are.  I’ve sort of squared up on the law of averages which says that a rare occurrence will happen, given enough time.  So I have finally stumbled upon my perfect mobile-one that keeps me connected with my network of friends, family and colleagues, helps silence those bothersome callers, block out unsolicited messages, capture memorable moments for posterity, doubles up as my very own music and video player and most importantly, shake me out of my de…ep sleep with its alarm.  That was until last month...until Apple released its iPad last fortnight.  Now, I feel the familiar stirrings of restlessness…will history repeat itself…can I resist the temptation of the Apple?

THE GAME OF SURVIVAL

            The video posted here is ‘The Game of Survival’ from ‘The Bear’ filmed by Jean-Jacques Annaud, the French film maker.  We have been captivated by the survival techniques employed by the enterprising bear cub to wriggle out of a sticky spot.

            Haven’t we all been faced with such tricky situations in our day-to-day life from time to time?  Would it be an exaggeration to say that it is a jungle out there we navigate everyday?  May be not, for I certainly can spot quite a few ferocious lions, cunning foxes, cowardly lambs, chattering monkeys and squealing rats around me.  We regularly learn to side-step potential quicksand and find our way through the unknown wilderness with lurking dangers in the jungle landscape of our careers.

        Our social lives are a different game of survival altogether.  A potentially threatening situation for many of us is striking a conversation with strangers.  The English are blessed that they have a tailor-made topic for initiating conversation-the weather.  The glorious vagaries of the English weather are a fool-proof conversation kick-starter.  With weather like the one Chennai enjoys (!) what does one ask? “Isn’t it hot/hotter/hottest today??”  Forget anyone responding favorably to that, it would be a definite conversation-stopper.  Many thanks then to our unctuous politicians, swash-buckling cricketers and vainglorious movie stars for being the fodder to keep our small-talk going on forever. Religion, caste and language may separate us but these netas, princes and badshahs bridge our differences.

            Well, for many of us (yours truly included) the biggest survival game would be the daily challenge of arriving at work on time and leaving work before time.  Hmm, a tough life, indeed.

IPL FOR DUMMIES

            Don’t let the title mislead you! This is not a self-help blog to decipher the nuances of Indian Premier League T20 Cricket or navigate through the maze of IPL jargon.  May be a more appropriate title would be ‘Dummies and the IPL’.  So now that you are suitably unimpressed, adventurous enough and more importantly, if you don’t mind wasting a few more minutes of your life, do proceed further, by all means.

            When everyone is gripped by the IPL fever, I thought it the right topic to write about.  What a cunning move to garner maximum readership!! (Did I hear you snigger?)  But a little problem confronted me-should I not know cricket (not the six-legged variety) in order to write about it?  I bolstered my self-confidence by recalling the words of wisdom, that no one who feared the waves ever found a pearl and plunged into my task.

            I decided to equip myself with at least a rudimentary knowledge of cricket.  What better way than to watch the IPL3 matches?  I was glued to the television set keeping track of the teams. Within a week I was familiar with the colors of the teams ranging from sunflower yellow to hideous purple, not to speak of the golden pads and silver gloves.  I was an encyclopedia of knowledge about the team-owners and their sartorial styles. I started waiting eagerly for the off-field cat-fight between Ms. Kat and Ms. Deeps who were both promoting the same team.  I knew all about the hands-on (!) style of Ms. Zinta and the aloof hands-off style of Ms. Shetty in supporting their respective teams.  Priety pranced about all over the field jumping up and down like a yo-yo all the time and giving out ear drum-splitting screams resembling the battle cry of a T. Rex.  In complete contrast was Shilpa who chose to sit demurely beside her richie-rich hubby displaying her fashionable shades and other random accessories and diamonds the size of rocks which our very own Chandrayaan brought from the moon, her sound-bite never progressing beyond a giggle.

            After a week, I sought the help of my friend to bolster my attempts at mastering cricket.  After all, there is strength in numbers.  So, it was a combined effort thereafter.  But sadly, no two women agree on anything.  So, as we sat drooling over Dhoni’s biceps, we had our eternal arguments about whose curls were wilder-was it Malinga or Murali, who had the highest cuteness factor-was it Lee or Gilly, and in between, trying to spot the similarities between the Pathan brothers.  We derived sadistic pleasure in choosing the teams for the last two spots-would it be the Rajasthan Royals, Kolkata Knight Riders or the Kings XI Punjab?  Two weeks just flew by in a haze of fours and sixers. 

            So what if I haven’t mastered cricket?  When the commentator says that Harbhajan has bowled a maiden over, I know that he isn’t referring to a Bollywood starlet.  I may not know what fine leg/square leg/leg break/leg bye mean, but I do know they are not anatomical references.  I know enough not to think dirty when I hear about the Asking Rate.  I’m quite happy with my progress so far.  There are a few more weeks to go for the grand finale of the IPL Season 3.  By then I’m confident I will update my knowledge and know for a fact how many swigs of Kingfisher beer Dr. Mallya takes during every match, if not what the googlies/yorkers/bouncers mean!!

THE BUCKET LIST

        Many of us would have watched the incredibly wonderful movie ‘The Bucket List’ starring Morgan Freemen and Jack Nicholson. The lyrics of the song It is better to say too much / Than never to say what you need to say again remain fresh in our minds. I’m sure at least half of us who watched the movie would have felt compelled at some point of time to prepare a Bucket List ourselves. For the uninitiated, the Bucket List derives its name from the phrase ‘to kick the bucket’ or to die. So, a Bucket List is essentially the list of things that one would like to do before kicking the bucket. When I tried to draw up my own Bucket List, I was not really surprised that I wanted to set right a lot of wrongs committed, advertently or inadvertently. Some wrongs could be set right, however late in life, whereas we can only make amends for certain others.

         Does the true realization of Death make us better human beings? It would appear so from my limited experience. I have personally come across instances of people stricken by major illnesses, or faced with a major tragedy or near-death experiences, learning to appreciate their lives and those of others around them better. They learn to ignore the miseries of life and prefer to savor the small joys in their everyday life. They have learnt to live in the present and celebrate life by accepting it as it comes. What a lifetime of religion has not taught them is achieved by the extreme pain and suffering endured for a short time.

          Death is inevitable; so wisdom suggests that we live our lives to the fullest today. There is profound truth in the lines ‘I came not of my pleasure, I go not at my leisure’

‘One can deny the existence of God but

one cannot deny the existence of Death;

Life is that which must go and

Death is that which must come’

              It is true these words are known to us all, but we never stop for a moment to try to decipher the profound meaning of the words. Thanks to a wonderful friend, who has personally been through such a life-changing experience and come out through it shining bright and strong-YOU HAVE MADE ME REALIZE THE TRUE SIGNIFICANCE OF THESE WORDS. My prayers are always with you.

WOMEN'S DAY

       The World Wide Web is abuzz with International Women’s Day wishes today.  Text Messages, Telephone calls and Personal greetings keep pouring in from friends and colleagues who are determined to remind us it’s Our Special Day.  
       Many companies and organizations make elaborate arrangements every year on Women’s Day.  The celebrations actually run into days prior to the D-Day with competitions galore-never mind that the events could be as silly as musical chairs, memory games etc., which are not even played by the high school crowd these days.  The idea probably is that the Poor women, who are hounded at home and workplace need to let down their tresses and de-stress.  Some events are also held for both the sexes, especially to appease the men, who, more often than not, happen to be the bosses too.   Women celebrities, news-makers, movers and shakers are in great demand this day to make not-too-long speeches that are sufficiently serious, extolling the achievements of women in all fields and berating the role of men in their lives, if necessary.  After some free snacks and a lot of new-found bonhomie with the gathered women, everyone feels suitably privileged. Maybe the husband or the boyfriend takes them out to a candle-lit dinner in the evening, buys them a suitably valuable gift and the day ends on a dreamy note.  But then, dawn does not really bring a new day-it’s back to the drudgery of home and workplace. Do these celebrations make any tangible change for the better in women’s lives?

            The average woman is a glorified servant in her home.  It is seen the world over that the unpaid services of women are considerably greater than that of men.  A working woman is no different from a juggler, expected to keep so many balls in the air at the same time, with no appreciation for the tricky manoeuvres, but immediate criticism for the slightest mishap.  She is, no doubt, the Mother-of-all-Multi-taskers.  The contribution of men towards running the house-hold in most cases is limited to lifting the telly remote.  Even if the woman earns more than the man or her job comes with more responsibilities or is more demanding, it is the woman who is expected to do the cooking, cleaning, supervising the domestic help, tending to children’s and elders’ needs.  The man would happily be parked on his haunches, not lifting his little finger to ease his woman’s burden.  If a woman is to succeed in her chosen field, she has to develop a considerably thick skin towards her detractors, turn selectively deaf to her colleagues’ barbs, be blind to her family’s short-comings and selfishness, manage to keep her other half always happy, her children and the elders in the family well-fed and healthy, learn the fine art of humoring the domestic help-in short, forget about her own self totally and live her life for others.

Every woman is indeed a miracle for what she accomplishes in her day-to-day life in spite of all odds.  This brings to mind the poem ‘Accomplishments’ by Elizabeth Ralph Mertz. 

When Aristotle wrote his books,

When Milton searched for rhyme,

Did they have toddlers at the knee

Requesting dinner time?

When Dante contemplated ‘hell’

Or Shakespeare penned a sonnet,

Did Junior interrupt to say

His cake had ketchup on it?

When Socrates was teaching youth

And Plato wrote the Phaedo,

Were they the ones to clean the mess,

The Children made with Play-doh?

If Edmund Burke had had to work

On all kids’ ablutions,

Would he have the time and strength,

To speak on revolutions?

Did food get bought when Darwin

Sought the origin of species?

Or, did he have to hush the tots,

And tell them not to tease, please?

When Judges Holmes and Brandies donned their robes

And gave their wise opinions,

Was laundry piled a meter high

With socks mixed up with linens?

How much greater, then, the task

Of those who manage both,

Who juggle scholarship with child

Development and growth,

And how much greater is the praise

For those who persevere

And finish their advanced degrees

And take up a career!

This poem remains relevant even today, some thirty odd years after its writing.  This is indeed proof that not much has changed in women’s lives in the last few decades.  One only hopes that the next few decades at least would see some changes for the better in terms of male participation in the home sphere and ease the lives of women.