Everest Base Camp - 1 trekker.. 10 in the pit stop

Going to Everest Base Camp was not a dream. Not an item on my bucket list and definitely not a 'find myself ' destination.  EBC happened slowly. Like an idea whose time had come. A suggestion that took root in the recesses of my mind and slowly like the tendrils of a creeper wrapped itself around my consciousness till one day I woke up and I was doing EBC.

It's been 4 months in the making..this EBC trip and as the saying goes, if I had a 100 bucks for every time I was asked why I was going to EBC?, I would a millionaire be..NOT. What with the prices of things and Mallya leaving us all in the lurch et al. 

To set the record straight, I am not going to EBC to find myself. I have found myself and therefore I must go to EBC. Which then leaves only one unanswered question. What does it take to do EBC? 

The obvious answers are of course a doting husband willing to bankroll the expedition and a dedication to fitness that is both mind numbing and body soring. And while I jest about this mes amis, make no mistake this is the cornerstone of any desire you may have to do EBC. Muscle and Moolah.
For me, what it took was  much more than that.

It took a reluctant husband, a disbelieving sister, a huge bunch of supportive friends,  surprised children, a shocked mother, a bewildered mother-in-law and a harried maid to make this happen. And this bit of wordery is my way of saying thank you...

To you who asked me a single question that made the sun rise on this entire quest that is EBC - I have introspected more since we last met at Poona Cold Drink House than I have in all my adult life. I am forever grateful and someday I hope to run a marathon with you !

To the globe trotting sisters - thanks to you my fingers and bits wont freeze and I will have the energy to finish the climb - one bar at a time with motay's back pack for company. But especially you  who understood my need to do this instantly and even tried to join me but alas it was nai nakai? maka naka!

For my stiff-upper lip..(back) lady who lunches - It was supposed to be the sisterhood of the travelling pants but alas the Gods had other plans. Ill be back for Her Majesty's birthday celebrations though. We'll make a night of it.

For my size zero friend ...my son's fairy Godmother - I go secure in the knowledge that if he needs any mothering you are there to provide it, along with cutlets and potatoes. Thank you Aps !

For my husband, my doppelganger - forever in your debt. I know you don't get it, but get it enough to support me..Once again to the rescue. Ich Liebe Dich

For my sister - as I said, if things go south, you can have first pick of the three...and my CC is yours(wink). Someday one of our schemes ahem ideas will work and we will be rich. Not MC Hammer rich, Oprah rich. In the meantime viva the three pointed star.

And last but not least to you mum - the reluctant-est supporter of them all. I know you believe in the butterfly effect but a forest fire in Uttarakhand will not melt the snow on Everest and it will not slide down on us while we are trekking. But I will carry a long trekking pole so I can stick it out if that does happen and people will find me.

To EBC then !

To EBC then ! 

A tribute to my mother

The earliest memory of my mother is one of her taking me to Empire Bakery on Sachapir Street to choose my birthday cake. She carried me down the street while I gazed in wonder at shops on the way...I peered through the grimy glass showcase at Empire - at cakes that had been there a week atleast ( not that I knew) and agonized over whether I should pick the ship cake or the guitar one.
She then took me to the cycle shop opposite and allowed me touch some cycles - and oh boy! That was awesome!! We walked back via Husseini bakery, met my father at the local laundry - Bangalore - and continued home. They bought me bullseye sweets from Unique and I felt like a princess!

Then I have this vivid memory of her whacking me in a shoe shop on MG Road because I wanted a pair of red shoes and well she just could not afford them, especially since the object of the outing was to buy school shoes. I remember her cooking up a storm for parties at our home which was not more than 350 sq feet and was inhabited already by 2 adults and 3 kids. I remember her giving me the ruler on my backside because I wrote badly for an essay class...and then I remember her helping me write letters to Santa and in hindsight not so subtly telling me what Santa could and could not afford. One memory is that of her pulling me out of bed and making me do my sister's hair ( late addition making phew! I mean 4 ) And one is of her throwing the ball at me when I disturbed her afternoon sleep. And oh boy ( pun intended ) I remember her giving me 'The Talk'

These memories come flooding back to me like bits of paper in a gentle breeze. Memories of her teaching me, soothing me, singing to me, staying awake with me, taking me to church, crying with me, for me...

See the thing about memories is that they never come to you in sequence. And they come to you unbidden. And they come to you ripe with emotion and bursting with detail. And when the subject of these memories is one's mother - the memories are sweet and bitter and soaked in nostalgia.

Fast forward to me being a mother myself and all the memories are of her and my children. Of her being the super Nana. Nursery rhymes and story books, sleep overs and huge sugar filled breakfasts, secrets under the covers and promises at dawn...beautiful memories of her loving my children without reserve like only a grandmother could.

People say that you always remember the big events in your life - the red letter days. But thats not true.

When I think of you mum, I remember every day...your love for us....for dad.....your love for cooking and for keeping a good home....your sacrifice...your dedication...your temper...your smile...your tears...your support....your words. All of which made my life wonderful and wholesome and grounded and real.

I am the woman I am because of the woman you are. Thank you for all the years you gave me and for the years you now give my children.

I am honoured to be your daughter.
Happy Mother's Day!

You know who you are....and you are my friend.

My friends are samples. All one of a kind. Sometimes I think the unwritten criteria for being my friend is that you should have done at least 2 things in your life you are embarrassed about and 10 things people hate you for. And I have some wonderful friends and they all fit the bill.

The reason I take to writing about them is because last week someone told a very dear friend of mine that I actually don't like her. That I don't like her dress sense, I don't like her baking, I don't like the way she lives her life and I don't like her staying with me.
Now this was really amusing because I do like her for precisely the above reasons. I respect her 'it's my body' dress sense and I wish I could wear half the stuff she does with as much panache. I love her baking and her cooking is to die for. I am amazed at the way she manages her children and her business single handedly and still finds the time to do special things for those she loves and above all I look forward to us spending time together - cos I get to eat good food and catch up on sleep on account of my children enjoying her company.
You know who you are and I'm sending you my order end of this week.

And since I am on the subject of crazy friends, let me tell you about the few others who have enriched my life by their presence and presents. There is this one who is cuckoo as they come. Grossly misunderstood by virtue of her tendency to break into laughter - loud and long. She dances anywhere and anytime at the slightest sound of a melody and is partial to jewellery and shoes. She is OCD and carries wet wipes and spray wherever she goes. She is an amazing cook and she has a heart of gold that melts at the lamest sob story. She is generous to a fault and still believes in Santa, mermaids and happy endings. Everyone thinks she has it rich and easy..but boy do I know different.
You know who your are and our Saturday morning coffee is long overdue.

I could go on and on... tell you about my friend who runs. Runs and runs. Runs when she is happy and runs when she is sad. About how she misses home but has sacrificed her love for butter chicken and mastani, for the sake of her husband and children. You know who you are and I'm saving for our 40th!
Or about my friend who thinks her single-hood defines her. Lives for the happiness of her parents and extended family and thereby has sacrificed having one of her own. You know who you are and have no doubt you are loved.
Or about my other friend who has travelled and lived in parts of the world that I cant pronounce and that you would probably need a magnifying glass to find on the globe map. And about how she has sacrificed her own yearn for stability to be with the man she loves. You know who you are and we need to skype soon.
And then there is my friend who is a single mother. Raising her daughter with love and laughter and tears and fears. Who has never grumbled or regretted choosing to have this little girl and who was brave enough to leave the comforts of the west and live in India. You know who you are and I salute you - you fritata queen.

The thing is that all my friends are people who have chosen to colour outside the lines. Outside the lines that society has defined. People who have done such crazy things in their lives that whats her face Cyrus and whats her base Kardashian's antics would pale in comparison. But I love them because they own each and everything they have done. With regret, with glee and sometimes with nostalgia ( especially after a bottle of bourbon) but they own it. And that is the only way to live life.

So to all my friends out there. You know who you are. And I thank God for you.

"I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be ashes than dust!"
― Jack London

And along came blue.

As far as sabbaticals go this one was a really long one. But truth be told I have been writing. Just not for public consumption at the fear of being exiled comme our friend 'The Painter' Hussein. You see we live in a democracy that does not allow you to speak your mind and Australia has banned boat people so I have to shut it because we really have no place to go.

Anyway I'm back and I write. For catharsis if not for public viewing and adulation.

And along came blue in Nov 2012. His name is Caleb Vincent and he is the sunshine in our lives at the moment. Not to take away from the joy our daughters bring us but one being a tween and the other an old soul at 9 we are presently in the midst of a whole lot of uhuhs... and whatevers... and ya..ha.... and hmms... and uffs.. and oh! I love black. Not very sunny. Just exhausting and bewildering.

So back to my sunny son Caleb. Never knew he was coming. Never expected blue. Pink walls, pink bathroom tiles, loads of girls clothes, girly music, every Barbie movie in creation, mushy books, art tools, painting canvasses, a membership an the Poona club library and happy all girl afternoons spent shopping at the mall. So when I had Caleb 8 months ago (damn..it feels like 8 years) I was at a loss. Had to call my 'son' familiar sister-in-law and ask for some tips on how to avoid the hourly face spray fountain! So there I was with a boy - happy as ever to have had him after 2 girls but oh! so
un-prepared for what was coming. Little did I know that a leisurely shower would be a luxury and a visit to the mall...sigh.

The first 3 months were bliss if you don't count the sleepless nights, the constant leaking at both ends (mine) and the grumpy proud father (how is that even possible?) shouting abuse while stubbing his toe at 2 am waiting for his son to burp. Throw into this mix 2 sweet girls loving their brother and waiting for him to say their names. It was a bloody zoo I tell you and now when I look back it was probably the best time.
Caleb is now 8 months and is zooming around the house in his walker like a boy on steroids. He loves banging into things and throwing stuff on the floor. Cant put him on the floor cos he loves chewing slippers and I suspect he loves the damn pigeons more than he does us.

Blue brought about changes at no 14 like we had not imagined. Baby furniture, kitchen items, more storage and whoever said - what can boys wear but short and t shirts? - never shopped at mothercare! Clothes and bibs and pampers ( I bought shares at P&G right after crap no 14 ) and cars and socks and caps and cars and booties and burp cloths ( %^&) and wraps and blankies and toys and did I mention cars?

I ask myself ( and the whole world asks me) what was I thinking? 9 years after my daughter Jessica and 3 years since I have my life back...and along comes blue....
Was I in shock? Yes
Do I regret it? No
Do I love him? Yes
Was I  prepared? No
Am I ready for whats coming? No
Am I exhausted form lack of sleep and rest? Yes
Am I broke? Yes!( godparents please see)
Has life as I know it changed irrevocably? Yes

Because ever so often you make plans. That involve pink and pretty. And set and comfort. And warm evenings with Justerini and Brooks in front of the telly. And savings and a date for retirement.
And then God throws you a googly. And along comes blue.....

Realitea

I love my morning paper. The fresh smell of newsprint, a crisp and windy Pune morning and my delicious morning tea while reading the latest in Hollywood gossip never fails to lift my spirits. Although I have to say that some mornings my spirits are already quite lifted from the excesses of the previous night but never mind.

This morning however when I opened the papers I chanced upon an article that drew and held my attention even before I got to reading the gossip column. The article said that tea with milk was bad for me! Surely the writer was joking or croaking and this was his way of paying back humanity for some imagined slight.

Not so. The writer was serious and went on to give some chemical reaction explanation that I must say sounded very convincing if you are the jargon impressed kind of person. Not me. I was mad. Hey! Gyan gurus! Leave us all alone. For centuries Indians have been drinking tea with milk - none of that green shit and have been healthy and happy. Now you come along and publish some paper after doing some cockamamie research funded by someone who has mucho moolah and you unleash this on the general public just as we are sitting down to enjoy our morning chai? Soon you will be telling us to leave the tea out and just drink the warm water!

The thing with this kind of unsolicited advice purportedly for the good of mankind is that there is no consistency. One day eat bread - the next day give it up!! Its bad carbs. One day eggs are the best - the next day you will die of cholesterol if you eat eggs. Today stop eating fish they are contaminated - the next day eat fish it has omega 3 oils. Today eat lean beef - its the best kind of meat. Tomorrow stop eating beef you will get mad cow and die. Normal tea is good for you today and only the back and green and Godaloneknowswhat colour is good for you tomorrow. What are we? Stupid?

Me - I have decided that I will eat, drink and pray - all in moderation. I meant play in moderation. Pray I will in excess - have to with the state of the nation. Anyway all of you health hungama people keep your studies to yourselves. Everyone's gotta eat. A lot of us have gotta drink and I know if we all play we will be fine. Chai is chai only if its got milk in it. Otherwise its coloured water.

Everyone wants to do a Steve Jobs

Steve is dead and for the last week we have been reading, seeing, hearing and listening to tributes made to a man who no doubt deserved all the kudos he got. People have been sending me links and videos and speeches and asides that he has made over the last 30 years but frankly my dear - I don't give a damn.

His words have been interesting, shocking, thought provoking, inspirational, insulting, encouraging, stark and even factual - in the world according to Steve. But from what I see going on around me his commencement speech at Stanford's 2005 graduation ceremony seems to have had the most impact on people all over the world.
Everyone wants to stop living someone else' dream and start living their own. Everyone now wants to follow their heart; drown out the opinion of others and the voice of society. Basically everyone wants to do a Steve Jobs.

Now a doubting Thomas you may be but it is true. In the 3 days after Steve's death while the world was being bombarded with Steve trivia I had more than 50 people walk into my office telling me they want to quit and follow their dream - a la Steve Jobs. My sessions would normally go like this.
"Ma'am, I want to quit my job."
"What? Why?" ( me thinking he wants more money and less responsibility which is normally the case)
"Steve Jobs died"
"What? So? I mean, so why do you want to quit?" ( me trying not to sound so callous )
"Before he died, he said follow your dreams and stop living someone else".
" Ok. Whats your dream?" ( me adopting 'the questions will reveal the answers' theory)
" My dream is to go to Goa and open a bar like Tito's, hook up with Masala Mike and live as if this were the last day of my life - like what Steve Jobs said"
"Don't be foolish. You will not have money to feed yourself." ( me getting down to basics in the face of idiocy.)
"That is what he said Ma'am. He said Stay foolish and be hungry."
"---------------" ( me lost for words )

So 50 variations of the same conversation over 3 days and I figured this is why we are a headless race, robbing Peter to feed Paul, trying to colonize space and save the earth when its us that needs the saving.
We have this amazing ability to select what we want to hear, see and believe - completely out of context and then with a faith that could move mountains act upon this belief thereby changing the course of our lives completely and then blaming everyone else - from the deceased Steve to the immortalized Elvis to the still with us Dr Singh, for things that go wrong.

Me? I am all for change and doing your own thing.
Quit and go do charity.
Quit and go play the guitar.
Quit and start your own catering company.
Quit and be a mechanic despite having an IQ off the charts.
Quit and follow your heart.
It just seems like everyone wants to go to heaven - but no one wants to die.
Everyone wants to DO a Steve Jobs - no one wants to BE the man.

This ones for the apple man. RIP

India's most undesirable

Simi selects India's most desirable. But who selected Simi? Was it Jimmy? Or Timmy? Or maybe Vimmy. It could have been any one of these 4 legged friends of man. Maybe they had a sniff the winner competition and her perfume or lack of it got her the gig. Could not have been man himself for man possesses a brain. Or does he?

One has to only look at her in all her botoxed glory and puff sleeves and wonder - who let the vamp out? Now many may call me shallow. After all beauty is only skin deep yadi yadi ya. It is actually. Whoever waxed eloquent about a good lookin liver? Anyway, I am willing to look beyond the externals hard as it is with all the feathers and mascara and talons...and see the lady.. ahem.. woman.. uhh.. female.. hmmm.. auntie (thats the right word) for what she claims to be.

Now talk, everyone can. Show - most people want to. Host - it is a skill one could learn from the likes of Oprah and Parkinson. Simi is described as a talk show host and therein lies the joke.
She cannot talk unless she assumes her alter ego Kiki's persona at which time she proceeds to speak in a high pitched falsetto that can raise the dead. Kiki asks questions that would make Hugh Hefner awkward, more due to manner than content. After all the media has shown us that no content is taboo - it's the packaging that counts. And boy! is something wrong with this package or what?
Show - I have to admit, she tries. But there are no takers for what she wants to show.
Host - She is definitely not doing any hosting on TV. But wait! From what I hear she used to be a good host with many a dost which is why she still coasts leaving us lost.. ( have to say it mallu style)

The idea for the show, good. The guests fresh ( no pun intended KJo) and entertaining ( Go Gaga!). The host - India's most undesirable I must say.
I think its a ploy to make the guests look more desirable. Can you imagine having Mallika Sherawat hosting? Or Rakhi Sawant? Or Sonam Kapoor? Who would look at the poor guests and massage their fragile egos?

Me? I think the show should be scrapped. But I come from a minority community, I cant fast and I have trouble speaking the local language so no one's going to listen to me. In which case, name the show for what it is.
India's most 'Undesirable' selects India's 'Most Desirable'