TwinkleKhanna

MRSFUNNYBONES

She’sJustLikeYouandaLotLikeMe

Contents

AbouttheAuthor

Dedication

Foreword

A:AmIanidiot?

B:Bewareofmommydearest

C:CanIndianmencontrolanythingbesidestheirwives?

D:Doingthedaughter-in-lawthing

E:Eureka!Mom,Icanmakeanyonepregnantnow!

F:Fitnessmaniaspreadsinthebuilding

G:Goodgrief!Thisweighingscalemustbedefective

H:Hurricaneshitmyhousehold

I:IrefusetocelebratethisbloodyValentine’sDaynonsense

J:JustleavemealoneinJune

K:KaranJoharcelebratesKarvaChauth

L:Loveisimperfectlyperfect

M:Maskedbanditontheprowl

N:Notquiteafeminist,sohowdidIreachMars?

O:Ohno!Iamunderarrest!

P:Pleasedon’tletgo

Q:Quarterofacenturyago

R:Reachingforthevomitbag

S:Sowhat’schanged,mommy?

T:Travelandtyranny

U:Undressedunderduress

V:Victoryliesincuttingyourlossesandnotyourwrists

W:Wherearethehomingpigeonswhenyouneedthem?

X:Xeroxcopyofmomrequired

Y:Youngunderdogs

Z:ZipyourmouthforGod’ssake

Acknowledgements

FollowPenguin

Copyright

PENGUINBOOKS

MRSFUNNYBONES

TwinkleKhanna,akaMrsFunnybones,craftssatiricalstoriesandfunnyfableswhensheisnotrunningadesignbusiness,sellingcandlesorrunningincirclesaroundhersmallbutratheroddfamily.ShenarrowlyescapedagruesometragedywhenBollywoodtriedtobludgeonherbrain to the size of a pea, but she ducked at the right moment and escaped, miraculouslyunharmed.SheisapopularcolumnistandaregularcontributortotheTimesofIndiaandDNAAfterHrs.Currently,sheisintheprocessofcreatinglamejokeslike,‘WhydoallHinduboysworship their mother? Because their religion tells them to worship the cow.’ She firmlybelievesthatnothinginlifeissacredexceptlaughter.

FormyDad

Foreword

First things first, am I exactly like thewoman in the book that you are about to read?Notentirely,sheisslightlylazier,abitmorehigh-strungandherjokesarealotfunnierthanmine.Inwritingherandthecharactersaroundher,Ihavethrowninafewfacts,alittlefiction,a

fewdecayingbraincellsandacoupleofoldbonesintomybrewingcauldronofwords.ItallstartedwithSaritaTanwaraskingmeifIwouldwriteahumorousweeklycolumnfor

her newspaper. Her exact words were: ‘You crack daft jokes all the time and you readincessantly,Iamsureyoucanwrite.’I triedtellingherthatmillionsofpeoplewatchcricketall thetimebutIdoubtif theycan

play,butsheinterruptedmebysayingthatIshouldwriteapieceandthenweshallsee.What did I really know about writing? Memories of a half-written book in my teens

surfaced; this, along with a file of morbid poems, all focusing on death and maggots,constitutedmyentirewritingexperience.ButIhavealwayshadapeculiarwayoflookingatlife,andmygoaltoamusemyselfoften

endedupamusingothersaswell.Inmyopinion,growingolderisallaboutlearningandpassingiton,otherwisethereisno

reasonforbiologicalevolutiontokeepusaliveafterourreproductiveyearsareover.Aclearerviewoflifeisprobablytheonlysilverliningtohavingtohoistyourboobsover

yourshoulderandgettingto thepointwherenotonlydoyouhaveeyebags,butevenyoureyebagsbegintosag.So, having fulfilled my function of ensuring that the population of India continues to

explode,andbeforedementiasetsin,Idecidedtositdown,openmylaptopandstartmyfirstcolumn,whichledtoalmostahundredcolumns,andtheniteventuallybroughtmerighthere,tothisverybook.Now,thisisthetimetoturnthepageanddiveintoMrsFunnybones(thebook,youtwits,

notme!).Starring ‘you know who’ as the main lead, then of course, the man of the house, the

eccentric mothers, two fairly strange children, and cameos by stubborn canines, weirdneighbours,Parsielectriciansandevenamoviestarortwo.Welcometomyworld...

A:AmIanIdiot?

8a.m.:Theprodigalson,thebabyandIarewildlydancingto‘Allaboutthatbass’,asongthatprimarilydealswiththeconceptthatabigbacksideisinfinitelybetter,andsincethebabycanalsojustaboutwarblethroughthechorus,thisisimmediatelydeclaredourfavouritesongofalltime.TheradioplaysonandthereisthenotoriousAnacondasongagainabouthavingabig booty, and when the baby starts trying to mouth, ‘Oh my God, look at her butt’, anobservationthatmaynotgodownsowellwithherplayschool teachers, Ihastilyswitch themusicoff.

9 a.m.: Trying to check my emails, I get hold of my iPad and boom there it is:#breaktheinternet and pictures of Kim Kardashian pouring champagne while balancing aglassonherbottom.Kimmydarling,whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwantedadrink?Youreallydidn’tneedtoposeasahumanbarcounter;IwouldhavejustsentmyRamuandPappu.Onewouldholdtheglass,theotherwouldpourandyoucouldsit,relaxanduseyourposteriortobreakthesofainstead.To digress a little, before the world even knew Kimmy existed, we had the famous

choreographerSarojKhanwhocouldcertainlybalanceatrayandacupofteaonherbottomifshetried,notthatsheeverdid.Sheusedthatbittoswaygloriouslyandteachotherstodothesame.Justlikeourpoliticians,Iambringingthisuptoprovethatanythinganyonecando,weIndianscouldhaveorhavedoneitearlierandbetter.

AsIamformulatingtherestofmypatrioticspeech,Ihearthemanofthehousesay,‘Canyou be quiet for just fiveminutes?’And I realize that I have actually been speaking aloudwhilehunchedovermyiPad.Blimey...

11 a.m.: Sitting in front of my computer and drinking coffee, I spot an email from myaccountant stating, ‘DearMadam,My sister very dangerous. Iwant to sawher. Please giveleavethreedays!Goodday,Srinivasan’Hmm . . .Either his sister is a serial killer and he has decided to cut her in half or as I

quicklyfigure(withthehelpofastrongswigofcoffee),heissayingthathissisterissickandhewantstoseeher.

Isendhimanemailback informinghimthatsince this ishisnineteenthrelative ingravedanger,heneedstoeitherconsultatantrictoremoveacurseonhisfamilyortosimplystoplyingtotakeextradaysoff.Ishutmycomputerandhurriedlygetreadytoreachtheoffice.

4p.m.:IamatthestoreandwearelaunchingournewcollectionwhenInoticethatinsteadofdealingwithacustomerwhowillhopefullyspendallherhusband’shard-earnedmoneyonmybeautiful,gold-embossedcandles,mysalesgirlisfastasleepatherdesk.Itentativelywipedroolfromthecashregisterandgiveherasharpnudge.Sheyelpsawakeandthengivesmeher sorry tale of being sleep deprived due to her husband’s daily sonorous and torturoussnoring.Blimey...

7.45p.m.:Motherhascomeover foracupof tea, andaswearechatting, theprodigal sonrunsintotheroomandyellsthatheneedstobuyabookurgentlyforhisEnglishassignment.Crosswordisthenearestbookstore,sowequicklydecidetogothere.Igrabmybagwithonehand, lug the babywith the other and hurriedly askmom to drop us off at the storewhileleaving instructionswith thewatchman to informour driver to reachCrossword in twentyminutes.

8.10p.m.:WeareatthebookstoreandItelltheprodigalson,‘Hey,let’sgotothataisle,IneedsomepensandIcanseesomemarkerpensthere.’Andthebabyimmediatelychirps,‘Wherepens?Showme!’Sheisatsuchapreciousage;curiousabouteverything.WebuytwobooksonpoetryfortheprodigalsonandaDorastickerbookforthebabyandheadout.Standingonthedarkpavement,Iamscanningthestreetformycartonoavail.Itrycalling

the driver but the number is unreachable, and after fifteen minutes of being stared at bypassers-bywiththebabysquirminginmyarms,theprodigalsonsaysthatheseesarickshaw.Thebabysqueaks,‘Whererickshaw?Showme!’

8.30p.m.:Theprodigalsonhailstherickshawandweallclamberin.Thisisthebaby’sfirstrideinarickshawandsheisratherthrilled.Wethenturnintothelongprivateroadthatleadstoourbuildingwhen the rickshawdriver suddenly says, ‘Madam, thatheroAkshayKumarusedtoliveherebutnowhelivesinBandra.’Asmymouth falls open and before I can protest, he continues, ‘Arrey, he’smarried to

Rajesh Khanna’s daughter, na, and Dimple Kapadia is there but the daughter doesn’t haveanythingtodowiththemother;especiallynowthatsheistheonlyheir.SothisAkshayandhisfamilyhaveallmovedtothatbighouseinBandra.’Bemusedwiththenonsensethismoronicmanisspouting,Isay,‘Really?Andhowwould

youknow that?’Patcomes theanswer, ‘Madam,rickshawchalatahun, sabpatahain.’ (Werickshawdriversknoweverything.)TheprodigalsonstartslaughinghystericallyasIstruggletopulloutmyfareofseventeen

rupees,andwerunupthestairstoourhouse.

ThemanofthehouseissprawledonthecouchandIbreathlesslystartnarratingthewholesequence.‘Sofunny!Listen,na,apparentlyAkshayKumarusedtoliveherebutnowhelivesinBandraandhiswifehateshermotherand...’Themanof the house narrowshis eyes and exclaims, ‘Youwere heading towards it but

nowyouhavegonecertifiablyinsane.WhatareyoubabblingaboutAkshayandhiswifeandhermother?That’sus,ourfamily!Whoreferstotheirentirefamilyinthethirdperson?Youarereallyanidiot.’Iimmediatelycorrecthim.‘Thewordisnotidiotbutilleist.Illeistisapersonwhotalksin

thethirdperson,whereasanidiotjusttalks;thoughtheysoundsimilar,theycannotbeusedinplaceofeachother.’Shrugging his shoulders and givingme a goofy grin, he retorts, ‘I don’t knowwhat an

illeistisbutIknowanidiotwhenIseeone.’The baby immediately stops playing with her tea set, looks up and says, ‘Where idiot?

Showme!’Blimey...

B:BewareofMommyDearest

MymotherhasneverbeentheBand-Aiddispensing,cupcake-baking,checking-on-homeworksortofmotherthatoneseesincommercials.Sheisfunny,sometimeswacky,alittleeccentricand fallibly human, and has consistently over the years found new and unique ways toembarrassme, starting at birthwhen shedecided that namingmeTwinklewas a foolproofwayofmakingsurethatIwouldgetteasedthroughoutmylife,haveimmigrationofficersatvariousairportsstareatmypassportandshakewithhystericallaughterandstrangersstalkmewithWhatsAppmessageslike,‘Twinkle,Twinkle,littlestar,Ihopeyougethitbyacar!’

Hereisashortlistofthethingsthatshehasdonetotraumatizemeatvariousstages.

IAMTHIRTEEN: I am studying at Panchgani and have been selected to play in the inter-schoolbasketballmatch.Motherhascometoseethematch,asitisabigmomentinmylife.Inthemiddleofthematch,shestartsyellingfromthestands,‘Tina!Tina!Youarethebest!’andwhenIturntohearwhereallthisruckusiscomingfrom,theballisthrownmyway,smacksmeontheheadandIfalldownflatonthecourt.

IAMEIGHTEEN:MotherhasreadabookonsomecolourtherapydietbyLindaClark,anddecided that Imust follow this innovativeweight-loss programmewhich consists of eatingonly red- and orange-coloured fruits, drinking solarizedwater in red bottles and sitting infront of an infrared light for fifteenminutes every day. End result after twoweeks: I havegained3poundsandhaveaburnmarkonmystomachfromtheinfraredlighttopplingandfallingonme.

IAMTWENTY-NINE:MomandIaregoingtoLondonforashootandMomisthengoingontoNewYorkwhileIamheadinghome.EverydaymothergoesshoppingandasIseeourtinyroomfillingupwithshoppingbags,Istartgettingafeelingthatthiswillnotendwell.Itisthelastday,myflightisat8p.m.andmom’sflightisfourhoursbeforemine.IstartfrettingastohowshewillfitallherstuffinhersuitcaseandshereassuresmethatIhavenothingtoworryabout—togotoworkandshewillpackeverythingformeaswellbeforesheleaves.That evening I rush tomy room to pick upmybags, only to find no suitcases, just two

trunks.Descriptionoftheabove-mentionedtrunks:Dented,batteredaluminiumboxeswithmyname plastered across in massive letters and misspelt ‘Twinkal Khana’ with a bright redmarkerpen.Mommy dearest has taken the two suitcases I had come with, to accommodate all the

shoppingandhaspackedallmythingsinthefilmunit’scostumedepartmenttrunks.

I AM THIRTY-SEVEN: My mother decides to call my entire family over for dinner—husband, in-laws,cousinsandall—andthenproceeds to talkabouthowfatIwasasachild,howIgotstuckinabucketwhiletryingtohaveabath,howIusedtoeatmangoessittingonthepottyandhowshehadtobuyclothesforafourteen-year-oldwhenIwasjustseven.

Andthenlastweek...

8 a.m.:My phone rings, it ismother, and she says, ‘I saw your console table in the foyeryesterday,it’sthefirstthingguestswillseewhentheyenteryourhouseanditislookingveryempty.Youneedtobuyanantiquestatueandplaceitthereimmediately.’Ineed tonip thispotentially longconversation in thebudquickly, so I reply, ‘Granny is

antiquetoo,let’smakehersitontheconsolewheneverguestscomeby.’Mommydearesthangsupwithoutaword.

1.30p.m.:Motherhasforgottenallaboutourmorningspat,andcallsmeinhighspirits.Sheinformsme that an old acquaintance fromDelhi is coming over this evening. The lady inquestion has been trying to persuademommy dearest to partake in a greatmoney-makingscheme,andmomhasalreadydecidedthatitisafabulousopportunityandisnowpersuadingmetotakeadvantageofherfriend’sgenerousoffer.

6 p.m.: Our much-awaited visitor arrives. She is articulate, intelligent and extremelycharming. I am almost convinced that I must part with most of my money, when I startmentallydoingsomecalculationsandanalarmbellstartsringing.Iprotestthatnothingintheworldcanhelpyouearn125percentperannum,especiallywhenthebankisjustaboutgiving9percent.EveryquestionIaskismetwithvagueanswerslikeangelinvestors,tradinginyen,etc.tillthemeetingcomestoanabruptend.

8.30p.m.:MymotherreceivesanSMSfromherfriend,whichstates,‘Iamverydisappointedwithyourdaughter ’sattitude.Whatdoesshekeepmumblingpercentagesfor?Doessheevenknowwhatsheissaying?UndertheseconditionsItakebackmykindofferofgrantingyouaplaceinmyscheme.It’syourloss.’MotherstartsberatingmeforhavingspoiltthisgreatprospectandwhenItryexplainingto

herthatthisisjustamoney-makingracketasthenumbersdon’taddup,sheagainyellsatmeforbehavinglikeIam‘somekindofmathsteacher ’.Hurtaboutthemathsdig,IremindherthatIhadscored97outof100inmyboardexamsonthesamesubject.Shemustrememberthatat least,sincesheandmyaunthadmadefunofmesaying, ‘TheHumanCalculatornotonlygets97marksbutalsoweighs97kilos.’

Shegetsevenmoreirked,soIsneakilygrabherphoneandsendherfriendamessageback:‘CBIhasjustarrestedMPRamchandraandtwoex-MLAsinaPonzischeme,wouldyouliketojointhem?’Amonthlater,momcallsmeandsays,‘IhavebeentryingourDelhifriend’snumberbut

shehasn’treturnedmycalls.Really,youshouldhavebeennicertoher.Didn’tevenserveherbiscuitsproperlywithteathatday.ButIagreewithyou,it’sbettertobesafethansorry.Whatistoogoodtobetrueusuallyis. . .Anyway,listen,IgotaletterfromaniceNigerianmanwhowantstogiveussomemoney...’Before she can continue, I yell, ‘Oh my God!’ She starts giggling and says, ‘I am just

joking.’Itellher,‘It’snotfunny,Mom,andsometimesyoureallydomakestupidmistakes.’Shesnorts,‘That’strue,Imadeyou.’

C:CanIndianMenControlAnythingBesidesTheirWives?

7a.m.:Ifeelasharptugonmynoseandsuddenlysomethingdampandsmellyfallsonmyface.AsIstruggletoopenmyeyes,Irealizethatitisinfactmydaughterwhoisstrugglingtoput her finger up my nose in anticipation of perhaps finding a brain wedged in theresomewhere,andtofreeherselffromallencumbrancesinthisfruitfultask,shehasremovedherovernightdiaperandthrownitonmyforehead.

8.45a.m.:Igrabsomecoffeeanddecidetogetaheadstartonmydaybyjottingdownmyto-dolist.

To-DoToday

1.Removebrowniestainsfromthesofa.

2.RemovestainsfrommynewpantswhenIsatonthebrownieonthesofa.

3.Boxsonontheheadforsayinghestoredthebrowniebehindthecushiononthesofaforsafekeeping.

4.Deletetwenty-sixpicturesofcousinKamalnath(Sweetie)Khannaandhisfamilythathaveverysweetlybeenemailedtome.

5.Deleteseventy-threeearlymorning‘inspirational’SMSforwardsthatonlyderangedpeoplehavetheinclinationtosend.

6.Callthelawyertocheckonmycourtcaseregardingmy(tied-to-a-tree)dogmanagingtobite our nasty neighbour—double check if I can file a counter case against our nastyneighbour for violating the dog’s personal nasal space by regularly stinking of methitheplas,therebyprovokingthedogintoabitingfrenzyduetotemporaryinsanity.

11 a.m.: I am sitting atmy desk trying to figure out if I canmiraculously convert a 2000-square-foot space inKhar intosomeversionofaVenetianvilla thatmyclient insists is theonlythingthatcansatisfyhisvisionofaperfecthome.ThesearethemomentswhenIwishmynamewasTwinkbabaandIcouldhypnotizemyannoyingclientintolettingmesimplydomyjob.

1p.m.:MrsIrani,myelectricalcontractor,comesintomycabin.SheisasweetParsiladyandoneofthefewwomencontractorsinherfield.Ihadspokentoherafewweeksagowhenshecalledtocomplainthatoneofourclientshad

notpaidherforherwork.ItoldherthatIwasunabletohelpherashehadgyppedmeofmyfeesaswell.Todaysheisgrinningandholdinghercheque.Shetellsmethatshegotourclientfollowed

byaprivatedetectiveandwhenshe threatened to revealallhis slightly illegalactivities,heimmediatelycoughedupourpayment.I am shocked because I thought all this private investigator stuff happens only in the

movies, and as I am wondering how she would even know such a person, she tells me,‘Bhabhi, this detectivewas involved inmy friend’s divorce and I kept good relationswithhim.After all, inourbusinessyoumeet somany types—sanghrelo saapbi koi divas kaamaave(evenasnakemaybeusefulsomeday).Wonderingifshewouldmakeherprivatedetectivechasemesomeday,Ihurriedlyaskmy

accountanttoclearanoutstandingpaymentweoweherofRs250forasinglelightbulb.Oneneverknowswhatcanmakethesepeopleblowtheirfuse.

3p.m.:IaskthesitesupervisorfortheweeklyreportofcompletedtasksandthisiswhatIgetinstead:

1.Thepainterwassupposedtoproduceanash-greypaintsampletodaybutcan’tbecausehisbua’sunclehas tomovefromsomeCampaColabuilding,andofcourse, thewholeclanhastopitchin.

2.Ourwoodcarver ’smother ’ssister ’sdaughter ’scousinisgettingmarried,soworkonmyGothicchairswillnotstartforanotherthreeweeks.

3.TheheadplumberismissingtwodaysthisweekbecauseofBakriEid.

4.TheentirecarpentryteamisabscondingforLakshmipujabecausetheyareallbrothersastheyliveinneighbouringvillages(whichisapparentlyascloseamental–physicalbondas

beingconjoinedtwins).

4p.m.:I throwyetanothercupofcoffeedownmythroatandget intomySherlockHolmesmode to discoverwhywe are payingRs 43more per kg ofwax than required and is it agenuine oversight or does my purchase manager need a few whacks from our good oldMumbaipolicemen.

6.30p.m.:Ihavecometomeetmynewclientsattheirhomewhichevenatfirstglanceneedssevereredecoration.Iamsittingonaratheruncomfortablechairattheirhideousdiningtableandfacingthemiddle-agedcouplewhoareexplainingtheirrequirementsfortheproject.Thehusband fetches the architecturalplansof thehouseandcomesnext tomychair.He

bendsovertryingtounrolltheplansonthetable,andthemotiondislodgestheintestinalgaswhich till thismomenthasbeenprobably lyingdormant insidehisposterior (whichby theway,isfourinchesawayfrommyface)andletsoutanoisy,flatulentmissile.Ialmostchokeon thenoxiousodourbut the couple just continue theconversationas if nothingoutof theordinaryhasjusttranspired.IttakesallmyyearsofyogatrainingtomaintainastraightfaceandIhurriedlyfinishthemeeting.TheirsecretaryushersmetothemaindoorandjustasIamleaving, I overhear the mistress of the house screech at her husband, ‘Pintu, not fair, badmannerstobehavelikethis,littlecontrol,please!’Heyells back, ‘Yaar, you say the same line in the bedroomalso. Sex andgas evenGod

can’tcontrol.’

D:DoingtheDaughter-in-LawThing

Mummyjiiswhateveryonecallsmymother-inlaw.Sheisfierce,formidableandfiery,henceabitlikemeinsomewaysandradicallydifferentinothers.

WhenIwasanewly-wed,shesatmedownandexplained,‘Twotigerscannotliveinthesamefield.’IwasabitpuzzledasIhadnoideathatshewasananimalconservationist.WhenIkeptasking the man of the house about her work with wildlife welfare groups, he gave me awitheringlookandsaid,‘Shemeansyouandshecan’tliveinthesamefield.’Ijustshruggedmyshouldersandsaid, ‘Nosweatoffmyback,darling,as I liveon the first floor, shecanhavethefieldalltoherself.’

Butgradually,Irealizedthatmummyjiwasright;wewouldbesharingthesamefield,thoughnotastigersbutasthemaincheerleadersfortheonemanouttherewhotechnicallybelongstobothofus;sowemightaswellshakeourpom-pomstogether.Whichispreciselywhatagoodmother-in-law–daughter-in-lawrelationshiptrulyis.

All youmummyjis beware! If your daughter-inlaw claims that she loves you like her ownmother,thendaalmeinkuchkaalahaiandthatlittleblackspotcouldverywellberatpoison.Onedayover lunchwitha fewgirlfriends,westarted talkingaboutmothers-in-lawandI

jotteddownafewoftheirstories.

FriendNo.1saidthatwhenshewaspregnant,hermother-in-lawgaveherapictureofLordKrishnatogazeatsincethiswouldhelpproduceabonnyboy.Whensheproducedabeautiful,duskybabygirl,mother-in-lawwasaghast.Friendno.1said,‘Mummy,lookingatthepictureevery day didn’t help in making the baby a boy, but it sure gave her Krishna’s colour.’Mother-in-lawatthatpointpromptlycollapsed.

FriendNo.2recalledthatwhenshewasnewlymarried,shewenttohaveteawithhermother-in-law, who remarked that her beloved son was looking a bit grubby and to send him tomommysothatshecanscrubhimwithherownhandstillheshines.(Afineideawhenhewassixbutatthirty-sixthiswaswaybeyondcreepy.)

FriendNo.3hadamother-in-law(pasttensedoesn’tmeansheisdead,justthatmyfriendhadthe sense todivorcebothher andher son)whodecided that hernine-monthpregnantbahubreakingherwaterbagwasnotasigntorushtothehospital.Majiproceededtohavedinnerandafter leisurelyhavingdessert, announced that itwasperhapsnow time to leave for thehospital.

FriendNo.4 isalwayscomplainingthathermother-in-lawcriticizesher,nudgesheroutoffamilypictures,grabs the front seatnext toherbeloved son in thecar andkeeps repeatinghowShonu (some kind of gross childhood nickname, I assume) lovesmommymore thananyoneelse.

FriendNo.5isconvincedthathermother-in-lawhasbribedherstaff.Themomentshelocksthebedroomdoorwithherhusband,readyforsomeaction,mummyjipromptlycallsontheintercomaskingforherdarlingsontocomevisit.

We spent the afternoon amidst uproarious laughter and I probably would have continuedmakingdigsatallthemummyjisforthenextdecade,butlastweekIwokeuptothis:

8a.m.:Inthemidstofstiflingayawnandpullingmydogoutfromhisfavouritehidingplace,my phone rings. It’smymother-in-law and she has a complaint, ‘Beta, he came up to thehouseyesterday,hehasbecomeso thin,whyareyounot feedinghimproperly?’IamabitconfusedbecauseIhavebeenfeedingthedogthesamethingforyearsandheseemstolookprettymuchthesametome.AsIstartprotesting,sheadds,‘Hisfavouritedishasachildwasmakkidirotiandsarsondasaag, Iwillmake it forhimtoday.He is lookingverykamzor.’Ahhh...Igetit.Sheistalkingaboutthemanofthehouse.APunjabimother,hersonandfoodformatriadassacredasBrahma,MaheshandVishnu,

andcannotbeinterferedwithasIlearntintheearlyyearsofmymarriage.Iwanttotellherthatthemanofthehousehasdeliberatelylosteightkilosforhisnextrole

as awiryboxerbut it’s just nicer to let her send themakkidi roti and the saag, especiallysinceit’smyall-timefavouritedishaswell.

3p.m.:Anoldfriendfrommyboardingschooldaysisintownandshedropsbyforcoffee.Idon’t see her very often, though we catch each other on Facebook occasionally, but thatcomfortofhavingknowneachotherourentirelivesneverseemstogoaway.Igiggleandtellheraboutmymorningmakkidirotistory,andshejuststartsranting,‘Last

weekonZeeTV,IsawModiaskingeveryonetosweepplaces,allthesemoviestarsandall...so exciting,na? Iwent toStarBazaar toget themonthly ration and I alsobought twonewbrooms, butmummyji snapped atme, saying that I don’t understand anything—it is only asymboltocleanIndia.Itoldher,“Thenwhyarewenotusingsymboltocleanthehouse?Tellme,Mummyji,whyareweusingbigvacuumcleanertocleanourhouseifsymbolcancleanthewholeofIndia?”

‘Mummyjialwayswantstoshoweveryonehowwearesomodernwithallthesedifferentmachinesandall—ifwearemodernpeople,wewoulduseonlyiPhone6,notalltheseothercheapophones.She thinks frommyroomIcan’t seeheron thebalcony,but Ican!Alwayssitting, drinking coffee and reading Economic Times. At this age, she should be readingBhagavadGitaornewspaper,youtellme?’Iamstaringatherinshockandhorrorbecause...Ihavethisvisionwhereoursonwillfinallygethiswifehome.Shewillplacehideousred

cushions onmy sofas, never polishmy silver tea set,will feedmy son his favourite friedchickenbyactuallydeep-fryingitandnotinthePhilips(oil-freeairfryer)machinelikeIdo,andshewillstareatmewhenIamsittinginthebalcony,drinkingcopiousamountsofcoffeeandreadingmyAsimovs...becauseonedaysoonenoughIwillbeamummyjitoo.Onealways looksat thisage-oldmother-inlaw–daughter-in-lawbattlefromthedaughter-

in-law’spointofview,butIrealizeitmustnotbeeasytobemummyjiaswell.Ihastilywhipoutmyphoneanddeletethemother-in-lawjokethatIhadmadeupandposted

onFacebook:‘Godcouldnotbeeverywhere,soHecreatedmothers,andtheDevilcouldnotbeeverywhere,soHecreatedmothers-inlaw.’AndIuploadmynewmotto,‘Dountoanotherasyouwouldwantthe(future)othertodountoyou.’

E:Eureka!Mom,IcanMakeAnyonePregnantNow!

8.15a.m.:ThemanofthehouseisleavingforashoottoPuneandheappointstheprodigalsonas‘safetyofficer ’inchargeoflookingafterthebabyandme.

1.30p.m.:WeareallwatchingthenewstogetherwhenweseeourwonderfulParliamenteruptinchaosandviolence,withourbelovedMPstakingoutpenknivesandpeppersprays.

1.45p.m.:Theprodigalsonhasbeenwatchingthisverykeenlyandhasnowdecidedtotakehis position as ‘safety officer ’ very seriously, and inspired by what we have just seen onscreen,goesofflookingforanoldSwissknifewhichwastuckedawayinthecupboard.

2 p.m.:The benefits of theSwiss knife have been discussed in depth and he has shownmedetaileddemonstrationsofhowithasscissors,anailfile,asaw,aknifeandabottleopener.

2.30 p.m.: The much-abused daybed in our house has suffered a minor mishap when thescissors from the Swiss knife got stuck in it, thereby not just tearing the fabric but alsorippingthestuffing.

4p.m.:Thestaffhavecometocomplain that thegreatSwissknifeexperiment is leading tomountingdeathsandinjuriesamonghouseholditems:

1.Mosquitonetripped.

2.Daybeddamagedasmentionedabove.

3.Oliveoilbottlebroken.

4.Dog’shairtrimmedonlyneartherightear.

5.Ourson’shairtrimmedonlynearhisleftear.

6.Thebaby’sfavouritedollfatallystabbed.

Not to forget our watchman who has been threatened with the ‘saw’ component of themagnificentSwissimplementtoensurethathedoesnotletunknownvisitorsintoourhouse.

Iamdismayedandgivehimapieceofmymindbyyelling,‘ThereisnodifferencebetweenyouandthemembersoftheIndianParliament,allthat’sleftforyoutodoistotakeacanofpeppersprayandviolentlysprayitonourneighbour ’sface!’Oops...

4.15p.m.:OursonhasnowgoogledtheabovementionedincidentonYouTubeandafteragainseeinghoweffectivethepeppersprayiswhenusedbyaparticularMP,hasdecidedtomakehisownversion:

INGREDIENTS

1emptyspraybottle500mlofwater4tablespoonsoflemonjuice14spoonsofredchillipowder8spoonsofsalt

4.50p.m.:Ihavenowconfiscatedallpotentialweaponsfromhisarsenal.

5p.m.:Iamfranticallybeggingthemanofthehousetotalktohissonandputsomesenseinhishead,butthemanofthehousefirmlydeniesanyresponsibilityinthisparticularfiascoandinsteadpointsoutthatif thehighestcitizensinourcountrycancontributetoviolenceintheParliament,thenhowcanoursonbeblamedfortheviolenceinourhouse.

After seeing thevalidityofhispointand realizing that inorder to join theParliament,youdon’tneedtobeagraduateorhaveanyparticularqualificationsbarringeligibleage,Ihavedecided that in exactly fourteen years our son can become an MP but perhaps he has topractise a few more parliamentary actions like yelling incoherently, breaking tables,snatchingpapersandsmashingmikes,toreallyfitin.Meanwhile, I need to practise removing stains from furniture, as that seems to be my

primaryoccupationathome.Iscrubaway,thinkingofwaystoremovetheprodigalsonfromhispositionasbabyGanpatistandingoutsidehismom’shouse,becauseifsomethinghappenstohim,Idon’tthinkIcanfindanelephantheadintimetomakehimmylittleGanesha.Parvatihaddivinepowerstojointheheadwithherson’sbodywhereasIwillhavetoplonkanorangepumpkinontopofhistorsoandtrymyluckwithspitandgoodoldFevicol.

5.30p.m.:IhituponasolutiontomyGanpatiproblembydraggingtheprodigalsonintothehouseandforcinghimtodosomemorehomework.

7p.m.: Iamworkingonafewyogaposesandhavefinallymanaged tohoistmybody intosomeversionofaheadstandwhen theprodigal son returnsand loftilyannounces, ‘Mom, Ican make anyone pregnant now!’ I violently choke, lose my balance and tumble onto thecarpet.Atalossforwordsforthefirsttimeinfifteenyears,Ifeeblymutter,‘Uh,Idon’tthink,er..

.youshoulddosuchthings;it’snottherightuhm...timeanduh...thegirlandyouuh...’‘Yuck,that’sgross,Mom!’heshrieks.‘Youalwaysthinkofsuchdirtythings!Idon’teven

talktogirlsthoughyoukeepinsistingthatsoonIwillberunningafterthem.Ididn’tmeanitlikethat!Eww!Iwasdoingsomeresearchforaschoolprojectandtheyoungestboywhohasmadeanyonepregnantiseleven!TheInternetsaysit’saworldrecord,that’sall.Dadisright!Yousaygrossthingsallthetime!’Andtheprodigalsonstormsoff.Yikes!

F:FitnessManiaSpreadsintheBuilding

Themanofthehouse,unlikeme,canactuallycook.Youmustalwaysfindapartnerwhocandoafewmundanechoresaroundthehousesothatyoucanrelaxinyourfavouritearmchairandnourishyourbrainwithbooks just like these. Ifyoudoknowhowtocook, it is ratherusefultopretendotherwise,unlessyouwanttobeperiodicallynaggedbysnottychildrentomake their messy and time-consuming favourite dishes right up to the day you getAlzheimer ’sandluckilyforgettherecipealongwithyourname.

Iwouldrathertakeanaponthebalconyinthetimethatittakestomakecomplicatedthingslike spaghettiBolognese but that could just be due to the fact that I am always chronicallysleepdeprivedandmyentiredaywhizzesbyrunningincircles,occasionallyrunningonthetreadmillandinvariablyrunningintooddsituations...

Today

6.30a.m.:Iamwideawakeasthemanofthehousehasswitchedonallthelightsanddecidedthatthisistheprecisemomentthatheneedstofurtherperfecthisbody,byaseriesofcomplexexercisesthatinvolvecarryinghisbodyweightonhisrightelbow.Hecheerfullyasksmetojoinhim.AsmuchasIadmirehiszealforself-inflictedpunishment,thedebateonwhethertopartake

inhisinnovativeroutineorjabmyeyethreetimesinsteadisveryshort.Thelatterless-painfuloptionaccomplished,Idecidetogetoutofbedandgetaheadstarttomyday.

7 a.m.:My body needs caffeine to lubricate all my joints into some semblance of normalfunction,butasIwalktothekitchen, thetwochildrenthatatsomemistakenpointIdeemednecessaryformyhappinessdashintomewhileplaying‘Catchthemosquitoorcatchdengue’(agameuniquetoMumbaisuburbs).

10a.m.:Rushing to theoffice, Iwalk to the lift inmybuilding,when Ihear loud,crashingsoundscomefromthestairway. Ipokemyheadforward,curiousabout thecommotion.Loandbehold,itismyneighboursMrsCandMrsM(wearingpolyester-printedsalwarkameezandgleamingwhitesneakers)rushingupthestairs tothethirdfloorandthenbackdowntothesecond,againandagain.

Gettingdizzyjustlookingatthem,Icallout,‘MrsC,MrsM,whatareyouguysdoing?’MrsCignoresme(thesamewaysheignoresmymonthlymessagesaskinghertomakesureherdog doesn’t defecate in the front yard. Last Diwali, I very kindly sent her a beautifullywrappedmade-in-Japanpoop-scooperbutneverevengotathank-younote).MrsManswerswithapant,‘Wearedoingexercises.Youcansee,no.Thenwhyasking?’Mutteringundermybreaththatnoamountofrunningupanddownfloorscandislodgethe

100theplastheyeatateachmeal,Irollmyeyesandleavethebuilding.

2p.m.:Sittingatmystoreandgoingthroughaccountsisadrearytask.ThoughIfeelImayneedsomesortofinjectabledrugtogetthroughtheday,Isettleforsomecoffeeandcontinuebreakingmyheadwithnumbersthatneverseemtoaddupjustright.

5p.m.:Backhomeandwithtimetospare,Idecidetotakethebaby(fondlyreferredtoasthe‘little beast’) to my mother ’s house so that she can harass other members of the familybesidesme.Igetthereandmotherdearestissittingwithherclosefriend,Honey,andtryingtocallup

theirfriend,Bubble.Honey!Bubble!Dimple!DoesanyonestillwonderwhyIhavebeenlumpedwithanamethatrhymeswithsprinkle

andwrinkle?

Iamtheninformedbymymotherthatherweeklytaskoftorturingmebyshowingmestrangesculptures that she excavates from unknown sources and then tries to place in precariouscorners of my house, has unfortunately come to a halt because she has been very busypromotinghernewmovie.AndasIamsecretlyprayingthatherpromotionalactivitiesdon’tstopforafewmoremonths,sheinformsmethatImustnotgetverydisheartenedasshehasspokentoanantiqueshopdealerwhoissendinga7-footstatueofaone-armedwomantomyhouseearlynextweek.

6.30p.m.: I amwalkingback intomybuilding and am jostledbyyet another elderly auntywalkingupthestairs.Wonderingaboutthisfitnessmaniathathassuddenlygrippedmyentirebuilding,Ispotthehunkymoviestarwhohasfinallymovedintohisthird-floorapartmentinourbuilding,anditallmakessense.Holdingthebabywithonehand,Ismilefeeblyandwaveathim,whenhewalksuptome,

punchesmehardonthearm,andsays,‘Doyouknowhowmanytimesyouhavebeatenmeupwhen we were kids?’ I have absolutely no recollection of this as I had spent my entirechildhoodmercilessly beating up various pimpled boys, half ofwhomgrewup to be veryfamouspeople.Promising tosendhimmyyummydahi tikkis, I entermy foyerandmeet themanof the

house.WhenItellhimaboutbumpingintoournewneighbourandfindingoutthatapparentlyIhavebeatenhimupaswell,themanofthehousejustsighsandsays,‘Whatisnew?Youbeatmeupeverydaytoo,maybeyoushouldopenanewkindofactingschool.’IprotestthatIreallycan’tact.Headds,‘Iknowthat,butyoucanclaimtobealuckymascot:ApunchfromTwinklewill

makeyourstarssparkle!’Ifeeblyprotestthatthisslogandoesn’treallyrhyme.Heshushesmeandcontinues,‘Therewillbetestimonialsfromallyourformerstudents.‘LikeFarhanAkhtar:“EverytimeMsKhannabeatme,IthoughtBhaagFarhanBhaag.That

iswhyIwassogoodinBhaagMilkhaBhaag.Itwassheerpractice.”‘Karan Johar: “I am successful only because ofMs Khanna’s regular thrashings. Every

wallop I received, I saidKuchKuchHotaHai and that’s how the ideaofmy first filmwasborn.”‘HrithikRoshan:“IbecamethesuperheroofKrrishonlybecauseofMsKhanna’spunches.

It leftadeepscaronmymindandIdecidedtogrowupandfightevil.”Andofcourseme,Akshay Kumar: “I would be nothing without Ms Khanna. I learnt karate, taekwondo andparkouronlybecauseofherblessingsintheformofslapsandboxes.”’WhenIobjectthateveryoneknowshewasamartialartsexpertevenbeforehemetme,he

snorts, ‘Sowhat?You,anyway,want to takecredit foreverything,so takecredit for thisaswell.’I hit himon thehead andpull himout toourporch.Feeling calmer after looking at the

beautifulsea,Itellhim,‘Thesealookssogorgeous,andsaythankyoutome—ifIhadnotfoughtwiththebuildertolowertheboundarywall,wewouldbelookingatonlyconcrete.’Themanofthehouseshakeshisheadandjustwalksoff.Soweird.Behavinglikehehashis

periodsorsomething;menaresostrangesometimes,whocanunderstandthem!

G:GoodGrief!ThisWeighingScalemustbeDefective

8a.m.:Theholidayshaveended,andafteramonthofindulginginendlessdesserts,Idustoffmyweighingscaleandgingerlybalancemyselfonit.Thenumberflashesverydramaticallyinred.IstaggerbackalmostasifI’dbeenshotbyasniper ’sbullet.Ipickupthepiecesofmyshatteredvanityandresolvetostartyetanotherdiet.Weight is a tricky thing forme. Inprimary school Iwas the fattestgirl inmyclass, and

thoughdecadeshavepassedandImaynolongerlooklikethefattestgirlintheclass,Ihaven’tforgotten her. Just like a house is sometimes haunted by its previous occupants, I am alsooccasionallyhauntedbythatlittlefatgirl.

1.30 p.m.: I ammeeting some ofmy close girlfriends for lunch, and invariably beforewehaveevenputourhandbagsdown,thetopicgoestoourweight.Onefriendiscongratulatedforlosingwhatseemslike350gramssincewelastsawher;Imoanaboutmydreadfulextra5pounds,anothersaysthatsheisalsoagainonadiet,whileyetanotherfriendchirpsinwithanentirethirty-minutestoryabouthowshelost(waitforthis)1kilo,andthenherauntydiedandshewassoupsetthatsheatesomeicecreamandgainedthemomentous1kiloback(theauntydyingisjustmentionedinpassing.Istilldon’tknowtheaunt’snameorwhatshediedof,butIdoknowthatmyfriendateafamilypackofchikooicecream).Wequicklyscanthemenuandorderdaintysalads,andasweareabouttofinish,weundo

allourgoodworkbyorderingcreamcookiesandcupcakes,andafteroohingandahingoverthecutelittleEasterchocolatebunnies,weproceedtobitetheirheadsoffaswell.

3.30p.m.:Iambackattheofficeandmyjeansarefeelingratheruncomfortable,andasmuchas Iwould like toblame thebaby for this,practically speaking, ifyourchildcanwalkandtalk,thentheyhavelivedoutsideyourbodylongenoughforyoutogobacktoyouroriginalsize.

5p.m.:Igetanemailfrommommydearestwhereshestatesthatshehasfoundafewofmybabypictures,andIlooksocute.‘Likeagiantladoo’areherexactwords.Hmm. . .Motivationenoughformetoleavetheofficeimmediatelyanddosomesortof

exercisebeforeIbecomeagiantladooalloveragain.

6.15p.m.:Iputmysneakersonandhit thebeachforabriskwalk.Iamjustgettingintothestrideof things, listening tosomegreatmusiconmyiPodandenjoying thegloriousview,whenfromthecornerofmyeyeIseethreeyoungmencreepupand,beforeIknowit,they

arepassingcomments,slowingdownwhenIwalkslower,quickeningtheirstepswhenItrytohurry;inshort,annoyingthehelloutofme.ThisisapeculiarlyIndianhabit,seeawomanaloneanywhereandourmenmustharassher

even if she has amoustache thicker than theirs, is eighty-three years old or has amassivemoleonhernosewith three strandsofhair sprouting through;basically, theywill revel inhoundinganycreaturethatvaguelyhastwoXchromosomeslurkinganywhereinside.

6.25p.m.:Iamnowgettingratherirritatedwiththesethreemorons,anddecidetoharassthemback.ImakeaquickU-turnandweendupface-to-face.Mythreetrueidiotsalsoquicklyturnaround,sonowIamfollowingthem.Ispotalarge,emptycoconut,pickitupanddecidetothrowitattheirheads.Theyseeme

and start running. I amnow running behind them at breakneck speed to throwmyorganicmissile.Theyarerunningfasterandfaster.Iampantingheavilyandsweatispouringoffmeas I try to chase them.Finally, oneof them trips.Theother twopull himup anddraghimaway.WhenIfinallycatchupwiththem,Ithrowthecoconut,miss,andamnowcompletelyoutofbreath,withastitchonmyside.Icannotchasethemfurther.

I amvery frustrated as I haven’t beenable to finishmywalk, andmywhole routinehasgonedownthedrainwhenIglanceatmywatchandseethatit’sshockingly6.55p.m.Ihavebeenchasingthesemoronsforclosetoeighteenminutes.ThisisthelongestandfastestIhavebeenabletorunsinceIwastwenty-three.Iquicklycalculatethecaloriesburntwhilerunningbehindmythreeidiotsascomparedto

mywalk,andrealizethatIhaveburnttriplethecalories.EvenifIhadatrainerurgingmetorun,Iwouldnothavebeenabletorunatthatpaceforthatlongandnotevenrealizethetime.Wealwaysgiveourbestwhenourbackisagainstthewall.Wewillwriteasuperlativeessay

whenpushinghardagainstadeadline,makethemostinnovativepresentationwhenourjobisinjeopardy,andstudythehardestwhentheexamisthenextday.Iwonderwhymostofuscanonlyperformtoourutmostwhencircumstancesdriveus,and

thenIrealizethatthefewwhopushthemselvesaretheoneswhosucceed.The driven, passionate ones give their best on ordinary days and that is why they are

extraordinary.Asforme,Istartwalkingbackhome,hopingthattomorrowIfindyetanotherminorcriminaltochaseanddecimatewithmycoconut.

H:HurricanesHitMyHousehold

People inherit a lot of things from their parents. These can range from facial features todiamondsandemeralds;Ihave,instead,inheritedasplendidmemberofmymother ’strustedstaff.Hisuncleworksformymother,hisbrotherworksformygrandmother,andheusedtoworkformyaunt,butisnowallmine.Letmemakeitclearrightatthebeginningthatheisthemosthonest,loyalpersonIknow.I

amjustnotsureifheisRobintomyBatman,orifheisMogambotomyMrIndia.

INCIDENT1:ItisaSundayevening,thedeadlineformyweeklycolumnislooming,andasIamsittinginfrontofmycomputerandfranticallytypingaway,hetiptoesaroundmeandthencalls out, ‘Didi! Didi!’ I look up, my chain of thought all broken, and ask him what hashappened.Hereplies,‘Doyouwantyourshoes?’Grr. . .ForGod’ssake,whywouldIwantmyshoes?DoeshethinkIcansimultaneously

jogonthespotwhiletyping?Itakeadeepbreathandaskhimtolendhisinvaluableassistancetosomeothermemberofthefamily.

INCIDENT2:Iamatmyneighbour ’sforteawhenmydomesticwondercallsmetosaythatsome gentleman has entered the house and is asking for my passport, and wants to knowwheremycomputerisaswell.Ratherworried,IaskmydesiJeevesifherecognizestheman,towhichhereplies,‘Didi,I

don’tthinkso.Looksvillaintypeofperson,comefast.’IfranticallyrushhomeonlytodiscoverthatA:ThegentlemaninquestionisMansukhbhai,myInternetfellow.B:Hehasbeenaskingformylaptoppassword,andnotmypassport.

IaskmydomesticwonderhowhecanpossiblynotrecognizeMansukhbhaiwhohasbeentothehouseacoupleoftimes.Heshakeshisheadandsays,‘Mansukhbhaihasabeardandthismandoesn’thave,alsohehasabigblackmoleonhischin.Allbadpeoplehavebigmoles,that’swhyIcalledyou.’Wonderingifitdoesn’toccurtohimthatpeoplecanperhapsshaveofftheirbeardonceina

while,butnotbeingabletowrapmybrainaroundthisevilmolebit,Ihavenorecoursebutto

gotothekitchenandeatfourcupsofstrawberryicecreamindespair.

INCIDENT3:Thebankhassentmeanemailsayingthattheyhavehand-deliveredimportantpaperstothehousewhichrequiremysignature,andneedtobereturnedthisevening.Onmyarrival,IaskmyJeevesifthepapershavecome.Henodsintheaffirmative,before

addingthathehaskeptthemverysafely.Iaskhimtofetchthepapers,andgotomyroomtochangeintomytrackpants.Twentyminuteslater,mydomesticwonderisnowheretobeseen.Isearchthewholehouseandfinallyspothimsittinginthestaffroom,sobbing.Igentlyaskhimwhatthematterisandhetellsmethathehadkeptmypapersverysafely,sosafely,thatevenhecan’tfindthemnow.IambeginningtothinkthatheisanagentplantedbyL’Oréalinmyhousetoensurethatmy

hairturnswhiteovernightandthusIhavetospendallmymoneyonhairdye.

INCIDENT4:IthasbeenanexhaustingdayandallIwanttodoiseatsomegoodfood,andcrash. I change intomy pretty, pink kaftan and sit at the dining table. I havemade chickentikka, salad andmutton seekh kebab. I askmy domesticwonder to put some kebab onmyplate,andheveryenthusiasticallyscoopsuptwo.I turnmyheadtoseewhat themanofthehouseistryingtoshowmeonhisiPad,andplonk!Ifeelsomethingonmylap.Withmountinghorror,Ilookdownonlytoseetheinevitable.There,onmylap,onmypretty,pinkkaftanaretwoenormouspiecesofkebab,twophallic-shapedmassivebitsofmeat.Iproceedtobangmyhead on the chair repeatedly till I calm down before asking him to lend his invaluableassistancetosomeothermemberofthefamily.

Hewillsetoffouralarmsystemrepeatedlywhiledoingmundanechores;hewillknockmeontheheadwithacupofteawhenIamsittingonmyswing;hewillaskmesevenquestionswhen onewould be sufficient. So at the end of sixmonthswhen he asks for a three-weekholidaytogotohisvillage,Iamratherhappytogiveittohim.Threeweekspassandhedoesn’tcomeback.Themanofthehousestartsaskingabouthim

andaccusesmeofdrivinghimaway.Hegivesmeabiglectureabouthowhavingapersonwithagoodheart inourhousehold ismore important thanhaving someonewhowill ironshirtsimmaculatelybutcanneverbetrusted.ThemanofthehouseisrightandIamalsobeginningtomissmymanFriday’sbumbling

presence inourhome. I sitdown to think if Ihavesaidanything tohim thathasmadehimwanttoleave,andfeelingdecidedlyguilty,Icallhim.He picks up and says, ‘Namaste,Didi, I got on the train four days late, but now I am at

Sholapur.’When I ask himwhy he is in Sholapur and not inMumbai, he replies, ‘Didi, IwantedtobuyshengachutneyforyouatSholapurstation,butthetrainwasonlystoppingforoneminute,soIpulledthealarmchain.Didi,thetrainpeopletoremyshirtandmademegetdown,butdon’tworryIamreachingMumbaiverysoon.’

Iputthephonedown,takeadeepbreathandimmediatelystartdoingmypranayamasIwillneedallthepatienceintheworldwhenhefinallyarrivestoonceagainlendmehisinvaluableassistance.

I:IRefusetoCelebrateThisBloodyValentine’sDayNonsense

10a.m.:ItisValentine’sDayandIhaveinformedthemanofthehousethatitwouldberatherniceifhecamehomeintheeveningwithasubstantialgiftandabunchofwhiteflowers.IalsoenlightenhimwiththefactthatIhavemadeareservationatourfavouriterestaurant,Wasabi,fordinnerat8p.m.After fourteen years of matrimony, I have discovered that hoping your other half

telepathicallyreadsyourmindonlyleadstosomeonewantingtopunchtheotheroneintheface.

11.15a.m.:Tryingtoworkfromhometoday,IfindmyselfsippingcoffeeandwastingtimeonTwitter,wheretwominutesmagicallystretchtotwentyminutesinasecond.Interstellar,beatthat!

1.30 p.m.:My desi Jeeveswalks in carrying a brown plastic bagwith a few parcels neatlywrappedupinnewspaper,andleavesthemonmydesk.Iguessthemanofthehousehasreallyoutdonehimselfthisyearandsentpresentsevenbeforehisarrival.Ihastilyopen thepackagesonly tofind twopacketsofsanitarynapkinsandabill forRs

620.Apparently, the localbaniyahasdeliveredall themonthlystaples today,and this ismyshareoftheloot.Pointtobenoted,milord:Whyaresanitarynapkinstreatedlikeradioactiveisotopes?They

are wrapped in layers of plastic and newspaper, then someone ties a string over thismysteriouspackageand then it’sput inabagof itsown—separate fromanyvegetablesorcerealboxesthatitmaycontaminatebyitsverypresence.Is it thefact thatmenwillseeacornerof thispacket thatsays‘Whisperwithwings’,and

collapsewith empathy at the thought of the agonywe go through everymonth?Or is thisbiological function which, in fact, enables us to give birth to specimens like them, stillconsideredsortofuncleanbymankind?Irememberafewofmyschoolfriendsfromconservativebackgroundstellingmestories

aboutbeingmadetostayinisolatedroomswithplatesoffoodbeingleftoutsidetheirdoorduring‘thattimeofthemonth’,astheywereconsideredimpureforthatduration.

2p.m.:ThedeadlineformySundayTimescolumnisfastapproachingandsinceIhavespentthelasthalfhourjuststaringatthese‘doubleprotection,longwearing’wonders,Idecideto

simplywriteaboutsanitarynapkinsandthedreadedmonthlycurse,whichturnsouttobeabitlikethis:

Mythsaboutmenstruationhavealwaysbeenpartofsocietyandnot just inIndia.InancientRome,PlinytheElderwroteinNaturalHistory thatdogswhotastedmenstrualbloodturnedrabid, mares miscarried, and corn in the fields withered when menstruating women werearound.InEurope,itwasbelievedthatmenstruatingwomencouldspoiljamandturnwinetovinegarwiththeirtouch.The last nail in our coffinwas provided in 1919byProfessor Schick,who cookedup the

conceptof‘menotoxin’.Hepropoundedapreposteroustheorythatawoman’smenstrualflowcontains a poison, ‘menotoxin’, that was responsible for everything—from roses wilting tobreadnotrising.Eventoday,menstruationisseenasdirtyorunholy.Mycousinoncetoldmeabouthavingto

gotoaMatakiChowkionthesamedaythatshegotwhatshecalls‘themonthlycurse’.Hermotherprotestedbutmycousininsistedongoingalong.Whentheyreachedthevenue,

thedupattaon the idol suddenly fellon thediyaandburst into flames.Myauntcaughtherdaughterbytheearanddraggedherbackhome,screamingallthewaythatdefyingtheperiodtaboohadledtothiscalamity.Mycousin’sproteststhatagustofwindthatblewinthroughtheopenwindowwasmore likely tobe theculpritwascounteredwithanotherboutof religiousjargon.Well,ifGoddisapprovesofthisfluid,thenHeshoulddisapproveofallbodyfluids.Sowhen

punditsaredoingyagnasandsweatingcopiouslyinfrontoftheholyfire,shouldn’ttheyalsooccasionallygetburnttoacrispbythedivinecosmicforces?Menstruating doesn’t cause pickles to spoil, temples to collapse or food to rot, nor is it

contagious, though itwouldbe rathernice to infect themalepopulationwith this so-called‘curse’ for a month or two, just to sit back and view what I am sure would be a highlyentertainingspectacle.Attheveryworst,menstruatingisslightlyuncomfortable,sometimespainful,andoneofthe

mostnaturalfunctionsofthehumanbody.Butwe ourselves stash our sanitary napkins in secret places, are embarrassedwhen one

fallsoutofourpursebyaccident,andsortoftiptoearoundthewholeissueinsteadofbeingproud of our miraculous bodies that go on optimistically churning out eggs, month aftermonth,fordecades.Er...someofyouthatcarrytheXYchromosomesinyourgenecodemayhavefoundthis

theme rather disturbing.Could you please tuck your tail between your legs and go back towatching thirteen men running around with a bat and a ball while we decide to stop‘whisperingwithwings’orwhisperingatall,andyellandscreamaboutthisbeingavitalpartofourbiology,which,infact,justhappenstosaveourentirespeciesfromextinction?

5.30p.m.:Iemailthepiecetomyeditorandclamberontomystationarybike,whereIspendthenext fiftyminutespedalling tonowhere,watchingMTVandhummingalong to terriblesongsaboutPussyDollsandBabyDolls.

7p.m.:Thedoorbellringsandthemanofthehousewalksin,carryingahugebunchofredroses.Wonderingifmenarebothcolour-blindanddeaf,Igivehimasullenlookandwaitformygift.

Thereisnogift.Apparently,hewasslightlypreoccupiedwithhangingupsidedownfromthe thirteenth floor of a building for the last six hours at the shoot and couldn’t get to anArchiesintimetogetmeahideous,allergy-inducingfurryteddybear.ItrytellinghimthatsinceIamnotaneight-year-old,Iwashopingfordiamondsandnot

stuffedanimals,butheinterruptsandsays,‘Whyareyoustillinyourdressinggown?Hurryup,orwewillmissourdinnerreservation!’Isighandsay,‘Idon’twanttogo!’‘But why?’ he asks. ‘Is it this teddy bear thing? I will get you one right now. The red

flowers? I know, I always get youwhite hydrangeas butmy assistant forgot and I couldn’tevenyellather.Sheleftearlytodaysayingshehadsome“women’stroubles”orsomething...Listen,stopsulking!Getreadyandlet’sgo.’Iscreech,‘It’snottheflowers...yesitis,ormaybe,Idon’tknow,andIhateteddybears,

and I don’t want to celebrate this bloody Valentine’s Day nonsense, and nothing fits, mystomachisallbloated,ithurts,andIhavelostmyappetite.’Hesmirks,‘Youarenotpregnantagain,areyou?’‘No!’Imumble.‘Ijustgotmyperiodanditsucks.’

J:JustLeaveMeAloneinJune

7thJune:Everysummerwepackupourhouseandthroweverythingwecanfindinmassivesuitcasesandheadoffonourannualvacation.Thisyearwehavethreeextrabagsthatcarryall theessentialrequirementsofaverytiny

person:Thebaby.Howcanan11-kilobabyneed85kilosofthingsisacalculationthatwouldinvolveequationsofrelativitythatIcan’tsolve.AllIcandoismakelistsandgoonpacking.Idesperatelycallmymother,askingforherhelp.Shearrivesinhalfanhour,andinsteadof

assistingmewith themundane task of organizing diapers andmatching hairbands, decidesthatallthepaintingsinmyhousehavetoberearrangedatthisverymoment.Iamstandinghelplesslyinthemidstofsixsuitcasesandshehasbadgeredmystafftodrop

everythingtheyweredoing,includinglast-minutewashingandironing,andtheyarenowallbusydrillingholesinmywalls.

8th June: We are at the airport and what was supposed to be a smooth journey has nowdescendedintoutterpandemonium.Themanofthehousehasdecidedthathewantstoflyinaparticularairlineonly—soa trip thatshouldhave takenusaroundfivehourshasbecomeamammothten-hourjourney.

Idecidenottogrumbleaboutthedelaythatthiswillcauseusandquietlyboardtheflight.An hour later, as I am about to fall asleep, I spot a fellow passengerwho is also from

showbiz and who happens to be mommy dearest’s colleague. He guzzles down (what isprobably)hisfifthwhiskyandthengetsuptogotothegalleytoscroungearoundforhisnextdrink. Having accomplished his mission, he comes back and sits down, only to have thestewardessruntowardshimandpullhimoffhisseatviolently.OurfriendwassoinebriatedthathecouldbarelyseeandhadactuallyperchedhimselfON

TOPofafrailoldwomanasleepinherownseat.Blimey!WehavereachedDubaiwherewehaveathree-hourhalt.Oursonisanexcellentmimicbut

performinglittleactslikepretendingtobeaBritisholdladylookingforcinnamonbunsorateenageChinesepopstar, inthemiddleofDubai’sinternationalairportcancausehimtobe

deported;asIamdesperatelylookingforaburkatogaghimwith,thebabydecidesshemustgotothebathroomrightthen,butwillnotsitwithoutherpinkHelloKittypottyseat.Weareaimlesslysittingatthelounge.ThemanofthehouseislookingathisiPad,ourson

isdozingoffonthecouchandthebabyisonmyshoulder.Iamsingingasongtoherwhichhassomethingtodowiththemoon,butsinceitismadeupbymeandnotGulzar,itconsistsofonlytwowords:Chandaandaaja.Iamfinallyatpeaceandsheisgivingmeatighthug.Thisiswhatmakesitallworthwhile,

thistinymomentofjoywhensuddenlyIyelp—thelittlebeasthasnippedmehardonmyarmandisgrinning,saying,‘Idoingbiting.’WhydidIhavethesechildren?IfImerelywantedtobetortured,Icouldhavejustgotten

weekly tattoos rather than have voluntarily reproduced these tiny ‘mini-mes’ albeit withmartial-artskills.IvaguelyremembertravellingwithmyparentswhenIwasalittlegirl.Didmymomalso

runbehindus like this?Didshenotwant tobefreesometimes, just tobreathe,withnoonetugginghershirt,nooneaskingherwhat’sfordinner?Freetoflywherevershewanted,dowhatevershewanted,whenevershewanted.Life is fullofcontradictions.Wecravesecurityandindependenceinequalmeasures.AsIaminthemidstofmyrandommusings,myreverieis interruptedbythemanofthe

housesaying,‘Iamhungry,let’sgetsomefood!’SometimesIamgladIamnotaphilosopher—howwouldIevercompleteasinglechainof

thoughtwhen someone is constantlyaskingme todo something? Idon’t thinkPlatowouldhavebeenabletowritehisdialoguesifhehadawifewhokeptbugginghimtopassthepitabread.

9thJune:OurholidayhasofficiallybegunandIamrelishingtheprospectofidlingawaymydays.ThisisthetimeIswitchoff,workonmytan,andleavecarpenters,cementdustandwaxfumesbehind.Anhourlater,Iamstillsittingonmybed,sippingcoffeeandenjoyingtheideaofdoing

absolutelynothing,whenmysonbargesinanddeclaresthatIhavetogo‘ziplining’withhim.Technically,‘ziplining’isridingawirethatistiedbetweentwodistantpointsveryhighup

intheair.Yougetintoaharness,sendaprayeruptowhateverGodyoubelievein,letgo,andhopethatyouwillreachtheotherendinonepiece.Iputawayall thoughtsof lazingon thebeach, readinganewbookabout spaceshipsand

aliensonmyiPad,anddecidetogiveMotherIndiasomestiffcompetitioninsacrificingmyneedsbeforetheneedsofmyoffspring.Sweatingintheblisteringheatandsittinginaboatforfortyminutes,wefinallyreachthe

islandwherewearesupposed toparticipate in this strangesport. Iamready inmyharnessand,asIstart,IrealizethatthisisnotjustplainzipliningthatIhavebeencorneredintodoing—it’szipliningwithanaerialobstaclecourse.

Thenexthourpasseswithmecrawlingthroughnets,tryingtowalkonabalancebeamanddoing splits togo fromonemoving step to another; all thewhile tryingnot to lookdownbecauseIam40feetabovetheground.Every muscle in my body is sore. I hurt my wrist last week and all this climbing and

crawling is really causing it to flare up.All Iwant to do is give up,whenmy son,who ismerrily crossing each hurdle, calls out, ‘Mom, why are you moving so slowly? Are youalreadytired?’Iwanttoyellathimforputtingmethroughthis;yellathimfornotrealizingthatIamnot

elevenlikehim,ortwenty-oneoreventhirty-oneanymore.Idon’tsayawordbecausechildrenarealwayslearningfromus.Theydon’tpayattention

tomostofthestuffwesay,butarealwayswatchingwhatwedo.DoIreallywanthimtoseethatwhenlifegetsevenremotelychallenging,onemustcomplain,cribandquit?Istrengthenmyresolve,plasteracheerfulsmileandfinishtheobstaclecourse.TheordealisoverandwhenIamfinallyclimbingdowntheexitladder,IrealizethatIam

exhaustedandexhilaratedatthesametime.IfeeltrulyalivebecauseIhavebeenlivinginthemoment,hurdletohurdle,withnotimeorenergytothinkaboutanythingelse.Wegrown-upsalwaystrytotaketheeasywayout,thelaziestway.Weseemtohaveagreat

fearofgettingtired,asifanyenergydepletedislostforever.Wewanttoplanourfatiguethesamewayweplaneverythingelse.Mostofusbarelymovetillwehavethatonehourinthegym that we have decided we should expend physical energy on. And there, too, we timeourselves,countthepreciserepetitionsweneedtodo,adjustourspeedtowhattheheart-ratemonitorindicatesweshouldmoveatandgoonpractisingourroboticroutinesdayinanddayout.I wishwe lived like children. Run till you are out of breath, flop on the grass, stare at

clouds, jumpup again, chase a squirrel aroundevery tree in thepark,walkonyourhandsbecausetheworldlooksdifferentupsidedown,climblittlehillsandrolldowntheotherside,dosomersaults...justbecauseyoucan.What do we do instead? We surround ourselves with all these big and small blinking

screens,while our bodies andminds slowly forget how to tumble, how towonder, how tolive.

K:KaranJoharCelebratesKarvaChauth

6 p.m.: Am I curled up onmy couch readingHarry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? Am Igetting ready for an infamousBollywoodparty or am I sitting in a salwar kameez gettinghenna applied on my palms in preparation for tomorrow’s torturous fast? No prizes forguessingthisone.Iamoneofthemanyfortunatewomenwhogettostayhungryandthirstyalldayinordertomagicallylengthenmyotherhalf’slife.Inancienttimes,Icanappreciatewhyonewouldenthusiasticallyundertakesuchatask—if

youknowthatassoonasyourotherhalfpopsit,someoneisgoingtomakeyoujumpintoalarge, blazing fire and commit sati. I can completely understand themotivation to try anymeans toprolongyourhusband’s lifespan,but today,when theunfortunatecircumstanceofyour spouse’s demisemerely frees you up to place ads in thematrimonial column, go ononlinedatingsitesandfeverishlyattendbarnights,thezealforsuchtaxingendeavoursseemsabitextreme...

5a.m.:If thereisaGod,Hehatesme.Ican’tthinkofanyotherreasonwhyIamstumblingaroundthehouseatthisunearthlyhournormallyreservedforowls,batsandthemanofthehouse.

5.30a.m.:Mymother-in-lawhas sentmeabigbasketof fruits andsweetswhich ImusteatbeforesunrisesothatIcanstarvetheentireday,therebytriggeringamysticalspell(knownonlytoIndiansandNRIfansofKaranJoharmovies)thatwillenableherbelovedsontolivealong life. Ihave tried to protest that thenewspaper states sunrise is at 6.31 a.m., so I couldtechnicallywakeupat6.15a.m.andgulp some foodbefore thecrucialmoment theabove-mentionedspelllosespower,buttonoavail.WhenIfurtherpointoutthatthepettortoiseinourgardenisdefinitelygoingtooutliveall

of us and I don’t see anyone fasting for him, I get awithering look fromher and a sharpnudgeintheribsfromthemanofthehouse.

10 a.m.: I gulpmy saliva since that is the only liquid I am allowed to consume, and call afellowmemberof theKarvaChauthTortureClubwhogoeson to tellmehow lucky I ambecauseshehastofollowstricterrulesthanme.SheisnotallowedtowashherhaironKarvaChauth.Shechuckles thatevenifacrowshitsonherheadtoday,shewillstillhave towalkaroundwithitbecauseallhermother-in-lawwilltellheristhatitisinauspicioustowetherhairtoday,butwillnotfinditinauspicioustohaveadaughter-in-lawwhosmellsofcrap.

11a.m.:Ineedwater...

1p.m.:Ineedcoffee...

3p.m.:Ineedwater,coffeeandalargeScotchontherocks...

4p.m.:IknowthatallourIndiancustomsarebasedonscientificresearchbyancientmindswhere they spent decades examining and experimenting before they came upwith specificritualstoensureourwell-being;soIdomyownscientificresearch(whichtakesmealittleless than five minutes, via Google) and the results are unmistakable. The United Nationsresearch states that men with the longest life expectancy are from Japan, followed bySwitzerland.Iamrathersurprisedatthisresultassincetimeimmemorialwehavebeendoingthe Karva Chauth fast to make sure our men have long lives, and the results should havedefinitelyshownbynow.Iscanthelist,confidentthatinthischartoflifeexpectancy,theIndianmanmustdefinitely

beinthetop5.Nope!Thereare146countriesaboveuswherethemenhavelongerlifespans,and the biggest blow is that even with four wives who don’t fast for them, the ArabmenoutliveourgoodoldIndiandudes.

6p.m.:WeIndiansareastrangerace;wesendMOMtoMars,butlistentomom-in-lawandlook for the moon. One of the better qualities we possess is that most of us will followtraditionsandritualsaslongastheydonotdemeanorharmus,orcauseustodothesametoanother,whilemakingoureldershappy.Wesimplydoitratherthanproveapointastohowliberatedandindependentwetrulyare.Perhaps,thisishowweharmoniouslyholdourlargefamiliestogetheraswecelebratedifferentaspectsofourlives.

9p.m.:Dressedinourfinery,wegatheronafriend’sterracetolookforthemoon.AsbanalasIfindmostrituals,Iamstillsweptawaybythemoment.Adarknight,fivegoodfriends,sparkling with our bindis, zardozi and red outfits. We are giggling and taking pictures.Suddenly,someonespotsthehazyorangeoutlineofthemoon,andwearenowdraggingoutourmen,laughingasweborrowthingsfromeachother ’splates,astrainer,acoconutbarfi,aflower,laughingasweborrowthingsfromourpast...

L:LoveisImperfectlyPerfect

6.30a.m.:Iamtryingtowakeoursonupandhemoansthatheisn’tfeelingwell,anddoesn’twanttogotoschool.Iyankhisblanketoffandthenrealizethatheisshivering.Ineedtotakehistemperature,andafterrummagingthroughvariousfirst-aidkitsthatwe

keep in thehouse, I find three thermometers.Onedoesn’tbeepeven ifyoukeep it inyourmouthfortwentyminutes,thesecondhassomanybuttonsthatyoumayneedtogetintouchwith thecallcentre for technicalhelp, and the thirdone shows the temperature,butonly inCelsius. My capacity for mentally converting this into our good old Indian Fahrenheit isseverelylimited.Hmm...Internettotherescue.

10a.m.:Ifinallygetholdofthedoctoronthephoneandhesaysthatitisprobablysomeviralbug,andprescribesafewmedicines.

10.30a.m.:Wearenowtuckedintomybedandthesondecideshedoesn’t‘do’medicinesandwilllethisbodyhealnaturally.Icansensetheinfluenceofacertainwell-builtgentlemanwhodrinksyuckyvegetablejuicesandalsodoesn’t‘do’medicines.

11a.m.:IhavedecidedtostayhometodaysothatIcankeepaneyeonourson,cuddleupwithhimandwatchhorrormovies.WestartwithTheRing.

11.03a.m.:Thefirstscarybitcomesonandoursonscreams.Moviefranticallypaused.Myhorrormovieplanhasbeendeclaredabigflop,andthemanofthehousehasfiredme(afterourself-righteoussoncalledhimupandgleefullyinformedhimoftheaboveproceedings),sayingIamfryingourson’sbrainsfurtherbyshowinghimghostsandblood.

3p.m.:IhavenowboughtaVicksthermometer(no,Iamnottheirbrandambassadororanysuch thing). It is the fastest, most amazing device, and thankfully gives the temperature inusefulFahrenheit.IloveitsomuchthatIfeellikecarryingitinmybagandrandomlytakingpeople’stemperatureswithit.Well,fornow,Imakemyselfhappybyjusttakingmine.

8p.m.:Themanofthehouseishomeandisverygrumpybecausehefeelsthereisn’tenoughfood (enough food for whom? An army? Ludhiana? Thirty-eight hungry boy scouts?).Punjabisareveryfussyabouttheirfood.Ifthereareonlyfourdishesonthetable,thentheyeitherfeel:a)Veryhumiliatedorb)Misstheirmother.Iamnotyetsurewhichoneisworse.

1.30a.m.:OursonwakesupsayingheisfeelingverycoldandcanIturntheACdown.AsIamfumblinginmysleepwiththeremote,themanofthehouseshoutsthatoursonisburningup.Temperature quickly checkedwith the amazing thermometer and it shows104degrees. I

throwCalpol down his throat, and theman of the house decides to sponge himwith coldwater.Ikeepinsistingthatheleaveittomeashehasanearlyshoottomorrow,buthedoesn’tstop,

tellsmetogotosleep,andcontinuesthecoldcompress.Asmyeyesareshutting,Ithinkabouttheword‘love’.Itismultilayered,convolutedandas

imperfectasallhumanemotions.Itisnotyourheartbeatingfastwhenyoulookathim(Ievenknewagirlwhowouldthrowupeachtimeshesawherbeloved)orconstantlywantingtobewiththeotherperson.Loveinanyrelationship,familyoranintimatefriendship,isonlyaboutputtingtheotherperson’sneedsaheadofyourown,andthat,myfriend,isjustassimpleandascomplexasyoumakeit.

M:MaskedBanditontheProwl

Saturday

4a.m.:Iamwideawakeandit’snotbecauseofthesonoroussnoresofthemanofthehouse,butbecauseIaminthemidstofafull-blownpanicattack.Inpreciselythreehours,Ihavetomagicallytransformfromamiddle-aged,vaguelystylishwoman,toanagelessgoddess.

6.15 a.m.: Standing in front of our hallway mirror, I am practising a few poses, one legartfullybent, theoppositeshoulderup,when themanof thehousestrides inanddecides toshare:a)IlooklikeIhavedislocatedmyshoulder;andb)HasanyoneevertoldmeIstronglyresembleTomCruise?IamnotsureatthispointifheistryingtosaythatIlooklikeashortmanorjuststatingthatIhavemajormovie-star-likecharisma,soIsilentlyletitpass.

10a.m.:Iamreadywithmake-upandnotahairoutofplaceatthephotoshootforafashionmagazineinashinypinkdresswithmassivepearlsallaroundthehem.It’sastunningoutfit,buteverytimeIwanttosit,thesepearlsdigintomybottom.Iresolvetoremainstandingtillthenextoutfitchange . . .before thesepearlshaveachance to followthefamousStar Trekslogan‘toboldlygowherenomanhasgonebefore’.Yikes!

11a.m.:Mybabyishere.IrushtohugherbeforeIgoformynextshotwhereIamleaningonafairy-taledwarf,andthisparticulardwarfisinsistingontalkingtomeinMarathi,whichIreallycan’tunderstand. Iwonder ifSnowWhitehadsimilarcommunicationproblemswithher bunch of men. 11.45 a.m.: Glittering in an all-gold Pucci dress and boiling inMaharashtra’s scorching sun, I am perched on a carriage. My body, of its own accord,dredgesupsomerustyskills,andsoonIampoutingandpreeninglikethisismydailyjob.

1.30p.m.:ThenextchangeisablackCavallidresswithaplungingneckline.AsItugitovermyhead,IrealizethereisnowayIcanwearanythinginside.

1.40p.m.: I amnowwalking tomynext location and the only thingkeepingmybreasts inplaceishope!

2.30p.m.:The shoothas come to anendand Ihave finally figuredoutwhy90per centofwomenontheredcarpet(andinmagazines)poselikeateapot,withtheirhandsontheirwaist—itmakesyoulookalotthinner.

AsImakeamentalnotetogoeverywherewithmyhandsperchedonmymidsection,IbegintowonderwillItrulylookwonderfullyleanorwillIbegivingpeopletheideathatIhaveabadstomachache?

7.15p.m.:Iwanttodosomethingsimpletonight,andwhenoursonsuggeststhatwegotothecinemawiththefamily,Iammorethanhappy.

8.30p.m.: Iwalkoutof thehousehavinghurriedly thrownonmyblueworn-outkurta; amcarryingabrightyellowbag(whichclashesterriblybutIamtoolazytochangeit)andnotaslickofmake-up.

8.45 p.m.:Hmm . . . The kids are eatingBavarian chocolate ice cream, and tired of beingdeprived,I,too,haveone.Mynieceiseatingachickenburger,soIhaveone,andthemanofthehouseorderssomebhel,soIhavesometoo.ThisisalmostmorefoodthanIhaveconsumedinthelasttwoweeks,butIthinksometimes

youhavetoeat tillyouburst, thesamewaythatyouneedtolaughtill tearsrolldownyourface.

10.30p.m.:Themovie isoverandall Iwant todo is fallonmybedandhopeIamable todigestaquarterofwhatIhaveeaten.Themanofthehousewalksmetotheelevatorandthensuddenlydecidesthathewouldratherrundownthefivefloors.Ican’tseemtoseetherestofthefamily,soItaketheliftdownhummingsometunelesssong.Iwalkouttothecaronlytoalmostfalldownasadozenflashbulbsgooffinmyface.Foranyonewhohaseverthoughtthattheseencounterswiththepaparazziarepre-planned,

kindlyusesomecommonsense.Wehavesomesortofvanityaswellandallowingyourselftobe photographed in a state that you would not want to put up on Facebook, let alone bepublishedinnationalnewspapers,wouldberatherdemented.

10.45p.m.: I reachhomeonly to find themanof thehouseperchedon the sofa, as hehadquicklyescapedonhisbulldozerbodyguard’sbike,leavingmetofacethemusic.Iboxhimonthehead,sulkandgotobed.

Sunday

IhadpromisedoursonthatIwouldtakehimtoseeLucy,andbeingasci-fifanmyself,Iamalsoexcitedtowatchit,thoughitmeansavisittothecinemaagain,butIhavedecidedthatthepressisnotgoingtocatchmeoffguardagain.Iblow-drymyhair,wearacutetop,andapairofextremelyuncomfortableheels. I reach the theatrewithmybest smile,andwouldn’tyouknowit,thereisnotacamerainsight!Getting rather fed up of not knowingwhen to be picture-perfect ready or slouch inmy

trackpants,Ihavecomeupwithagreatplan.Iprintouta12-inchpictureofMrModi’sface,maketwoholesontheside,stringit,and

voila,Iamnowpreparedtogotothecinema.EachtimeIgotothemovies,IwilljustpulloutmyhomemadeMrModimaskandsimplyputiton.

Thepros:1)Idonothavetoputanymake-uponeveragain.2)IwillprovethatIamaloyal,patrioticIndiancitizen.3)Imaybecomeanationwidetrendsetter.

Thecons:1)TerroristsmightgetconfusedthinkingIamtheprimeministerandattempttoassassinate

me.2)Thegovernmentmaythinkitisagreatideaandmakewearingthesemasksmandatory.3)AfairnesscreambrandmaydecidetocashinonMYtrendanddevelopananti-ageing

SPF30(patentpending)MrModimask thatmakesyourskin lighterwitheverywear,andnotgivemeapenny.

By the way, if you do go to the movies this week and spot our prime minister, lookingremarkably slimmer, casually slippingout of the theatre in a fadedbluekurta and abrightyellowbag,don’tgetfoxed,it’sprobablyjustme.

N:NotQuiteaFeminist,SoHowdidIReachMars?

Wednesday

7a.m.:IaminaplaneheadingtoDelhiforanexporttradefair.Haveyoueverbeeninsideaclosedspace,earlyinthemorning,withpeoplewhohaveapparentlyeatenchickenmakhaniandaloogobithepreviousnight,haverushedtotheairportinthemorningandthendecidedtoimmersetheirfellowpassengersinaromaticfumes?Why does the oxygen mask only come down in emergencies? And if this is not an

emergency,thenwhatis?

TO-DO-LIST

1.Getoffflightanddry-cleanpashminashawl,yellowT-shirt,JBrandjeans,greybag,watch,ringandmobile.

2.Shakehairvigorouslytoloosenoutembeddedsmellbeforecorporatemeeting.

3.Write to the government not to waste funds on nuclear warheads, can reroute the sameplane to an enemy country. If the government can provide a singlematchstick, then thegaseousplanewillexplodeinbeautifulflames.

7.15a.m.:Theplaneistaxiingandfellowpoliticalpassengerbehindmyseatisshoutingintohismobilephone,‘HowwilltheprosperitycomeintheIndia?Youtellme,yah!YadavisbestintheIndiaandhowyouputthelimetoturnmilkintothecurd,sowehaveputhimtoturntheparty.’

7.19 a.m.: The plane has taken off and fellow passenger is still shouting, ‘Arrey, he is notmilk-drinkingchild,wotohsaaphaisaap’(areptilianmammal—interesting).Afterawhile,silence. . .Eitherhefinallylostsignalorsomeonediscreetlystabbedhim.Eitherway,all’swellthatendswell.

Thursday

11 a.m.: I am sitting and eating chips atmy little candle booth at the trade fair.Aworkingwoman’s constant companion is guilt. We are always feeling the burden of periodicallyneglectingeitherourchildrenorourwork.Today ismyson’sparent– teachermeetingand

instead of being at school, I have to be here, listening to nonsense like, ‘My real cousinbrotherisgoingtoforeign,’‘Whatisyourgoodname?’And‘ImyselfMrLokesh.’

12.30p.m.:Threenewcustomers introduce themselves tome, saying, ‘I amKapil theelderbrother ’and‘IamSonutheyoungerbrother ’,andthethirdonechirpsin,‘IamPradeepthemedium-sizedbrother.’Hmm...Nicetoknowthatallgoodthingscomeinmediumsize.Iaskthemifthereareanyotherbrothers,andtheysadlysaythattherewasafourthbutin

childhood,‘Wooffhogaya’(notquitesureiftheyweretalkingabouttheirbrotheroralightbulb thatwentoff). Icommiseratewith themandafter takingdown theirorders, Ibid themadieu.During the afternoon lull, I pull outmy phone to checkmymessages.After the parent–

teachermeeting yesterday, awhole bunch ofmoms are having a heated discussion on ourclassWhatsAppgroupchat.Suddenly,aniratefathercomesontothechat,rantsabit,andthensays, ‘Some thingsmay be above the control of themoms, sowe shouldmake a father ’sgroup to tackle it.’There is pindrop silence on the chat. I am sure this poor chap couldn’tpossibly mean this the way it sounds. It would be suicidal to say this on a group chatdominatedbyschoolmoms,becauseyoumayfinditistotallywithinthesewomen’scontroltowait for you on the school steps, hoist you above their shoulders and throw you in thenearestgarbagebin.

3.30 p.m.: Needing a break, I start walking around the trade fair. I pause to look at somegobletsandtraysdisplayedatabooth,whentheownercomesuptomeandsays,‘Youalsogotthesamephone,ah?Metoo,yaa.Sametosame,what’syoursweetname?’Restrainingmyselffromviolentlythrowinguponhim,Ismileandsay,‘MynameisKhan

andIamnotaterrorist.’Lethimgofigurethatoneout.

4.18p.m.:Signonthenextboothsays,‘Entryfrombacksideonly!’IthinkIwilljustskipthisoneandreturntomycandlebooth.

Friday

MyNoidatriphascometoanend,andarmedwithafewlargeordersandhavinglearntnewphraseslike,‘Ifyoucando,do,ifcannot,thenadmityourself’,IdecidetogethomequicklybeforeIneedtoadmitmyselftoamentalasylum.

Saturday

My gynaecologist has asked me to attend a conference on women’s empowerment at theAmbani hospital. This is the same man who has pulled two children out of me and canconfidentlysaythatheliterallyknowsmeinsideout.Ioftenmake(notveryfunny)jokesthathisideaofforeplayisperhapstappinghiswifeonthehead,asthatistheonebithemustnotbeseeingtheentireday.MynameiscalledoutandIgetontothestage;myheartisbeatingfastandmylegsareabit

shaky,butspeakImust,sothisiswhatIsay.‘OurlittlesatellitereachedMarsbecauseitwascalledMOM.IfitwascalledDAD,itwould

stillbecirclingtheEarth,lost,butnotwillingtoaskfordirections.

‘Inordertoempowerwomen,weneedthreethings:education,employmentandachangeinthewaymenperceivewomen.‘Howdowe change this deeply ingrained perception?We aremothers.We are the ones

raisinganentirenewgeneration.Weshapetheirvaluesandattitudes.Weneedtoteachthemrightfromthebeginningthatbothgendersaredifferent,butourvalueisthesame.Ifwewantto empower women, we need to be empowered mothers so that we can lead the nextgenerationofmenandwomenintoalifeoftrueequality.’Thatevening,Iaskthemanofthehouse,‘SodoyouthinkweareequalsoramIweakerin

anyway?’Helaughs,‘Ofcourse,youareweaker!’Andtryingtoimitateme,inaridiculousfalsettovoice,continues,‘Baby,pushthiscoffeetable,na,Ican’tmoveit.’ImutterundermybreaththatIwasn’ttalkingaboutphysicalstrength,punchhimonthearm

andgoofftoseewhat’smadefordinner,checkonourson’shomeworkandsendtwoemails,whilethemanofthehousekeepscirclingaroundthetelevisionandthecouch.

O:OhNo!IamUnderArrest!

ThemanofthehouseistheshowstopperatafashionshowforadenimbrandandisalsothestaroftheiradvertisingcampaigncalledUnbutton.Igoalongtoseetheshowandamsittinginthefrontrow.Theshowstartsandinthebright

glareofasinglespotlighttheMisterwalksdowntheramp,standsinfrontofmeandtellsmetoopenthetopbuttonofhisjeans—allthisaspartoftheadvertisinggimmick.I am horrified and keep shakingmy head, but he takes my hands up to his waist and I

quickly open a single top button in themanner of a harriedmother opening her toddler ’spants.

ThenextmorningmyhusbandisgettingawardedthePadmaShri,oneofthehighestawardsgiven to civilians in India.We are at the award ceremony and I am grinning, posing in agrouppicturewiththePresidentofIndiawhenmyphonepings,andIseeamessagefrommymom:‘Thepolicearelookingforyou,somecrazyactivisthasfiledacaseandnowtheywantto arrest you for indecent behaviour.’Arghh!How can this happen tome? If nothing else,can’ttheywaittillIfinishtakingaselfiewiththePresident?

Twodays later, I amsittingat thepolice stationwhere theyare takingmy fingerprints andaskingmeifIhaveanyidentifyingscars.Yes,identifyingscars!LikeIgetintoregularknifefightsandgetgrazedbybullets.

Theywon’tarrestscoresofmenwhopubliclyunbutton,unzip,pullouttheirdanglybitsandproceedtourinateonawallrightoutsidethepolicestation,butforreasonsstillunknowntome,openingasingletopbuttonhasbecomethecrimeofthecentury.Inordertofinallycomehometomykids,IpayabailamountofRs500andhavemymug

shotframedonthewallofJuhupolicestationrightbesideothernotoriouspeoplelikeMotiMunni(whorunsanescortservice)andMallikaSherawatwhodoesnot.

Finaltallyofthislittleadventure?

Themanof thehousehasabig fatcheque from thedenimcompanyandhealsohas thePadmaShri,whileIhavetheprivilegeofcarvingoutmyplaceinthehistorybooksbytakingpartinanobscenecrime.Blimey!

P:Pleasedon’tLetGo

10a.m.:I’menjoyingSundaybreakfastwiththewholefamily.Myin-lawsalwaysputenoughfoodonthetabletofeedhalfofAmritsar.We’rediggingintoalooparathaswithhome-madeghee,andas Iamdespairingat thehorrificnumberofcaloriesbeingconsumed, thephoneringsandwegetsometerriblenews.Afamilyfriendhaslostheryoungson.Theyoungman,in his early twenties, went to America to attend a friend’s wedding, left a suicide note onFacebookandkilledhimselfbeforeanyonecouldreachhim.Icannotevenbegintoimaginewhathismotherisgoingthrough.Thereisnopaingreater

thanlosingachild.Fromthetimetheyareinyourstomach;fromhearingtheirheartbeatsonthesonogramandcountingkicks inyour last trimester—youbeginyour journeyofworry.You worry about their health, their education, their career, their spouses, their children.Worrying,butnotreallybelievingthatoneunluckydayyourgreatestfearmayactuallycometrue.Youloseachildtoanaccidentoranillness,andwithabrokenheart,youconsoleyourself

thatyoudidyourbest, it’sperhapsGod’swill,hehasgonetoabetterplace;butwhenyourchilddecidesthatthelifehehasbeengiven,thelifewhereeverythingheknowsiswhatyouhave taughthim, isnotworth living,howdoyou livewith that?Howdoyoustopblamingyourself?Howdoyougoon?

JODHPUR:Agirlstudyingintheninthgradehangedherselffromafanafterbeingregularlyteasedbyaboyatschool.

BANGALORE:Two teenagers committed suicide by jumping into awater tank after beingfiredbytheirteacherfortheirpooracademicperformance.

MUMBAI: A fourteen-year-old girl hanged herself because she was harassed by herneighbour.

CHANDIGARH:A twenty-one-year-oldstudent jumped toherdeath from thesixth floorofherhostel,leavinganotethatincludedwishinghersisterssuccessineveryfield.

KOLKATA: Two teenage girls committed suicide in a village near Kolkata, disillusionedabouttheirfutureasasame-sexcouple.

Weteachourchildrentostudyhard,tostrivetosucceed,butdoweteachthemthatit’sokaytofail?Thatlifeisaboutacceptingyourself?Thatthereisnostigmainseekinghelp?OurIndianculture isbasedonworshippingourparents.Wegrowup listening towords like ‘respect’,‘obedience’and‘tradition’.Canwenotaddthewords‘communication’,‘unconditionallove’and‘support’tothislist?IlookattheWHOresearch.ThehighestrateofsuicideinIndiaisamongtheagegroupof

fifteentotwenty-nine.Doweeventalktoourteensaboutthis?

2p.m.:WenormallyspendourSundaysbythepoolsideorgoingtothecinema,buttodaywejustgetafewgroceriesandspendtimequietlyinourkitchen,puttingasmallmealtogether.

6.30p.m.: I amstanding in thebalcony, sippingsomecoffeeand lookingat the sunset.Thechildren have taken the dogs and gone down to play on the beach. I spot my son. He isstandingonthesand,rightattheedgeoftheocean,flyingabluekite.Thekitegoeshighandthenswingslowtillitalmostseemstofallintothewater,andallI

wanttosaytohimis thatsoonhewillseethat life is just likeflyingakite.Sometimesyouhave to leave it loose, sometimes you have to hold on tight, sometimes your kitewill flyeffortlessly,sometimesyouwillnotbeabletocontrolit,butevenwhenyouarestrugglingtokeepitafloatandthestringiscuttingintoyourfingers,don’tletgo.Thewindwillchangeinyourfavouronceagain,myson.Justdon’tletgo...

Q:QuarterofaCenturyAgo

1990

8.30a.m.:Goa.Theminuteyouland,youfeelfree.It’sthewonderfulbracingair,andwithallthe leftoverwaftsofweed incirculation, a senseofwell-being isprettymuchguaranteed Ireckon.

1p.m.:WeareatthislittlecafécalledOrangeBoom.Iamstuffingmymouthwithavocado–mushroomtoast,andsprawledbesidemearemydearfriend(whoweshallcallMissD)andthefourboysthatformourgroup.Isn’t it strange that therewill alwaysbeonemomentyouwill recallwhensomeoneasks

youwhenwereyou thehappiest?Forme, ithasalwaysbeen thisday.Somewhere this tiny,seeminglyunimportantdaywedgeditselfsofirmlyintomyheartthatdecadeslater,Iwillfindmyselfbringingthemanofthehouseandmychildrentothiscaféagainandagain.IwillbuyabluehousejustaroundthecornerandIwillgetayellowscooterofmyown,

almostidenticaltotheoneIamjustaboutlearningtoridenow.Butatthispoint,Idon’tknowanyofthisandtheonlythingonmymindislearningtoride

thisbloodyscooter.Relyingontheboysforridestopartiesisariskyproposition.Wealwayswant to leaveearlyand theysometimeswant to stayback till the suncomesupandsetsalloveragain.

2.30p.m.:Theboyshavegoneaheadandwehave takena tinydetour topickupourbeachessentials before joining them. Zipping along on my yellow scooter with Miss D sittingbehindme,Isuddenlyrealizethatmysilverringisslippingoutofmyfinger.Ilookdowntoquickly push it back on andmy scooty hits a pothole, andMissD andme are now flyingthroughtheair,onlytolandinastraw-filledditchonthesideoftheroad.

2.35p.m.:Wearehangingoutinaditchatthesideoftheroad,strangelyinthesamepositionasweweresittingonthescooter,thoughthebikeisbentinaweirdway.Weenlistthehelpofpassingraversanddruggies (verykindpeoplewhen theyarenotgoing throughanymanicwithdrawalsymptoms)togetusoutofourshallowholeandsetusonourway.

3.35p.m.:Wehavefinallyreachedthebeachshack.Ourfriendsarelookingsuspiciouslyatusand the first question is, ‘Did you fall somewhere?’ We firmly deny such outrageousaccusations; then they say, ‘Why is there straw in your hair? And the scooter also lookscrooked.’ They finally buy all our denials and leave us alone.We are now surreptitiously

puttingcoldbeercansonourbruisesandonlylimpingwhentheboysarepreoccupiedwiththevolleyball-playingbikini-cladbombshellsonthebeach.

6.30 p.m.: Riding my yellow scooter back to our rented cottage, with the wind blowingthroughmyhair and an orange andpurple sunset setting the sky ablaze,myperfect day isalmostover;onlytodoeverythingagainthenextdayandthenext,forasmanydaysasthewhimstrikesus.

2014

MissDandIarenowgrownwomen.Wehaveamassedfourchildren,twohusbandsandthreedogsbetweenthetwoofus,andovercoffeewestarttalkingaboutouroldgroup,reminiscingaboutourpastescapadesandadventureswiththeboysandthenwerealizethatnoneoftheseboys(nowmiddle-agedmen)aremarried.Just for the record, these are all straight, financially solvent men; so to unravel their

mysteriousbachelorhoodandtothoroughlyentertainourselvesinthebargain,wedecidetodonourSherlockandDrWatsonhatsandinvestigatethematter.Whipping out our phones and putting them on speaker mode, we start our unrehearsed

phonequestionnaires,whichgoabitlikethis...

Me: ‘Hey, what’s up? A quick question and then you can go back to dealing with theMunicipalCorporationofGreaterMumbai:Whyareyounotmarried?’BachelorNo.1:‘Areyounuts?YouforgotIamdivorced?Noneofyoulikedmywife,kept

complainingthatshesmellsofmethi.’

Ihastilydisconnectthephoneandcallthenextcandidateonourlist.Me:‘Hi!Quickquestion,whyhaveyouneverbeenmarried?’Bachelor:‘OhGod!IthinkyouhavepressedredialbecauseIhavealreadygivenyouthat

answer,nowcanIgobacktoearningaliving?’Oops...Weeatafewmorechocolatebiscuits,andmywillingaccomplicecallsthenextcandidate.

She:‘Hey,buddy!Wantedtoask,whyareyoustillsingle?’BachelorNo.2:‘Baby,suddenlyfancymeafteralltheseyears?’She: ‘Shutup! Iamdoingasurvey,dude.’BachelorNo.2: ‘Gussahogai!Your fault for

askingsuchquestionsatthishour.’She:‘It’s11a.m.,youidiot!’BachelorNo.2:‘Oh!Iamatathree-dayraveinGoa,baby,losttrackoftime.’Phonedisconnected.

Myturnagain,andfromtheotherend,araspyvoiceanswers,‘Ihavealreadygotamessageabout the daft survey you psychos are doing and I don’twant to be part of it . . .’And hecontinues in his peculiarly self-important manner, ‘By the way, mummy forgot to sendtandoorichickentodayandmyfundmanageriscomingover,soit’sgoodyougirlscalled.Canyousendatiffinoverpleaseandsendsomegulabjamuns;mygirlfriendisalsocoming,sosendfoodforthree–fourpeople.’Ashepauses,Iquicklyinterject,‘Oh,yourrelationshipwiththeseventeen-year-oldmustbegoingreallywellsince.. .’Hescreeches,‘Iamsickoftellingyousheistwenty-four!’Andhangsup.

Thelastmanstandingisnowonthephone...

Me:‘Weareconductinganinvestigation.Canyoupleasetellus,whyhaven’tyoueverbeenmarried?’BachelorNo.4:‘Hasmymotherputyouguysuptothis?Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.’Wepersisttillhefinallytellsushisstory.

HewasdatingaGujaratigirlandonedayinthegripofpassionandwantingtoemulatetheWest in this act, alongwith everything else, started spanking his girlfriend on the bottom,whilesaying,‘Who’syourdaddy?Who’syourdaddy?’TheGujaratigirl,whoIassumehadneverplayed thisparticulargamebefore,calledout

shrilly,‘HasmukhPatel!HasmukhPatelismydaddy!’Unfortunately,myfriend’snameisnotHasmukhPatel.After that, each time he saw her in the buff, he would visualize her father: the pudgy,

bespectacled Mr Hasmukh Patel and, in despair, had no recourse but to terminate theiralliance.Hehasneverbeenabletofindtherightgirlsince.He sorrowfully recounts this story, and we commiserate with him till he bursts out

laughing,andwerealizethatwehavejustbeenbamboozled.Thesemen have no tragic stories about losing the one thatmattered, but are incredibly

happywithoutwhattheyseeastheshacklesofmatrimony.Whilewefeelsorryforthemandworryaboutwhattheywilldoastheygetolder,they,infact,feelsorryforus,astheyseeourlivesasendlesspilesofdiapersandsuffocatingpredictability.Caseclosed,DrWatson.

Weput thephonedownand thoughour livesare filledwithall sortsof fulfilling things,talkingtoouroldgroupagainleadstoacertainkindofwistfulness.Thisisperhapswhatmiddleagetrulyis—thefuturewedreamedaboutisaplacethatwe

nowfirmlyinhabit,sowespendalittlemoretimelookingoverourshoulderatthebeguilingsepia-coloured postcards from our past wherewe once stood before an esoteric world ofmyriadprospectsandweremesmerizedatthepossibilitiesitheld...

R:ReachingfortheVomitBag

ThemanofthehousehassummonedtheentirefamilytoDelhiwherehehashisnextshoot.The prodigal son has a broken foot, the baby has a cough and I am downwith a bout ofinsurmountableinertia—astrangemaladythatrendersthesuffererincapableofmakingto-dolists,letalonepack400miscellaneousitemsthatmayneverbeneeded.IhavehadaverytoughweekandallIwanttodoisgetintomybed,readsci-fishortstories

anddrinkhotchocolate,butthenew-ageIndianwoman’sworkisneverdonebecauseshehasto do all the stuff that was dumped on men earlier, like dealing with doctors, talking tobankers, bribing random government officials, threatening accountants, and still has tochangediapers,toleratecrazymothers-in-lawandjumpatherfamily’scommands.Sowhenourson jabsmewithhiscrutchesanddemands toknowwhenweare leaving, I

sighdeeplyandsimplydotheneedful.

THEPLANERIDE:IamgettingintotheplaneandIpushallmyelevencarry-onpieces,ofdifferingsizes,includingtheabove-mentionedcrutchesintovariouscompartments,andsettleinto my seat only to find that my fellow passenger is another woman roughly my age,travellingwithherhusband,andababyonher lap.Looking forward toexchangingstoriesandtipsonbabiesandmotherhood,Isettlemylimpingwarriorintohisseat,plonkmybabyonmylapandbuckleupfortheride.Theplanetakesoffandmybabystartsyelling.Iamtryingtomakeherdrinkwatersothat

herearspopopen.Thebabystartschewingtheinflightmagazine,thesamemagazinehandledbyhordesofpeoplewhomaynotallwashtheirhandsafterusingtheairplanetoilet.Isnatchitfrom her and console myself that perhaps the baby will have a stronger immune systembecauseofthiscontinuousexposuretogerms.Thebabyisnowtryingtobitetheseatbelt,tryingtobitemyyellowhandbag,hittingmeon

thenosewithhergeneticallymade-for-karatehands—generallymakingmylifehell,asusual.Thewomaninthenextseatwhoisstillcalmlyholdinghersleepingbabysmugly,looksup,swishingherimmaculatehairwhilestaringatthisspectacle.JustwhenIamabouttoburstintotears,Ismelltheunmistakablesmellofbabypoop.Cursingmy luck andwanting to take a parachute out of this plane, I struggle to get her

diaperbagoutof theoverheadcompartment, lugher to thebathroom,pulldownherpantsand...surprise,surprise...herdiaperiscleanasawhistle.Wecomeback toourseatandas thesmellof fetidbroccoligetsworse, I againpullher

pantsagapeandpeerinside.Nope,notathing.Andthenithitsme:It’stheotherbabynextto

us.Can themothernotsmell it? It’s thegrossest,most familiarscent toalluspoorwomenwhogothroughraisinglittlemonstersintosemi-decentadults.Ikeepstaringattheothermomhopingshegetsonwithit,buttonoavail.Itrytochewmint

inthehopethatitwillgetthesmelloutofmynose.Nope,thatdoesn’tworkeither.Finally,justwhenIamabouttogiveup,thewomanstartssniffingaroundand,afterpeeringatme—inwhat could be the longest ‘your baby vsmine’ standoff—pulls her baby’s pants down andthereitis.ShefumblesinsideherGuccibagand,tomymountinghorror,pullsoutabottleoffloralperfume,pullsthediaperdownandspraysaroundthebaby’sbum,Pamperandpoop,andcalmlyputsthebabybackonhershoulder.

Allright,sonowIamsittinginanaromaticcloudofshitandChanelNo5.Whoeversaid‘Lifeisaboutthejourney,notthedestination’needstositlikeme—covering

myheadwith the in-flightvomitbagfor therestof the journey,whiledesperatelyawaitingmydestination—beforetheyspoutsomemorephilosophy.Aurevoir!

S:Sowhat’sChanged,Mommy?

Musingsofamiddle-aged,newmom

1.Mybedtime:8p.m.wasthetimeIwouldberelaxingwithaglassofwineandplanningwhatI am going towear to tonight’s event.Now, this is the time I am fast asleep inmy bed,droolinginanexhaustion-inducedcoma.

2.Myvariousbodyparts:SometimesIthinktheonlythingkeepingtheminplaceisdelusion.

3.Myclothes:WillIeverwearmyJBrandsize26again?Andmoreimportantly,doIhaveanyclothesfreeofbabyvomittoweartoday?

4.Myman:Fromgazingatmeworshipfullyanddeclaringhowbeautiful Iam,henowhasone term to complimentme nomatterwhat Iwear:Cute!What the hell is cute?Am I abloodyteddybear?

5. My brains: With an enviable tested IQ of 145, now there are days when I can barelyrememberwhatrhymeswithtwinkle.Sparkle?Spangle?

6.Mypeergroup:Ihavealwayshadsavvythirty-something-year-oldfriends,butnowIfindmyselfconversingwithtwenty-four-year-oldothernewmoms,onlytowonderifIwasasdumbatthatage.

7.Myhome:Ihavealwayshadanimmaculate,eleganthome,butgonearethedayswhenmyliving roomcouldbe featured inArchitecturalDigest; now it’s difficult to even findmysofaundermoundsofdiapers,swaddlecloths,burpclothsandbibs.

8.My food:My regular diet of dainty salads and grilled chicken is banned frommymealplans, asmymother-in-law isnow force-feedingme ladoos, dry fruits andghee-infusedbajrarotistoincreasemyfluidoutput.IamsecretlystartingtothinkthatthisfluidoutputnonsenseisjustanexcuseshehasmadeuptomakesureIneverloseanyweight.

9.Mystatus:ThemanofthehousehasverypolitelyinformedguestswhohavecometoseethebabythatIamunavailable,asIam‘milking’,andtherebysealedmystatusfromcoolchicktomooingcow.

10.Myoutlook:Myvanityhastakenahitandmybrainshavebeensuckerpunched,butwhathas really changed is theway I look at this body—from groaning about each lump andbump,judgingmybodybymydresssize,Inowmarvelat thestrengthof thiswonderfulmachine. It hasproduced twobeautiful children,been terribly abusedonoccasion (applemartinis,anyone?),beenneglectedsometimes,butithasneverletmedown.SinceitonlyrespondstowhatIgiveit,withlove,care,dedicationandmaybeafewstarvationperiods(let’snotkidourselvestothecontrary),Iwillperhapssashayinmyoldjeansonceagain,whilesimultaneouslydeterminingtheexactsquarerootofpi.

T:TravelandTyranny

8a.m.:Iaminalittle,relativelyunknowntowninGermany;it’sanidyllicseasidesmalltownwhere everyone knows everyone else and nothing seems to change.We come here almosteveryyearor two toget themanof thehouse fitand ready tograpplewithcrocodilesandjumpoffskyscrapers.

10.30a.m.:Waitingatthehospitalforourturninthephysiotherapydepartment,Iseealotofpeople on crutches coming by aswell. Each one limps in, calls out ‘morgen’ (morning inGerman) and everyone already sitting there answers back ‘morgen’; by the forty-third‘morgen’thatIhavehadtocheerfullyforceoutofmymouth,Iwanttoputonelegoutandtripthenextlimpingsoldierthatwalksin.Idonoticesomethingthatisratherstrange.Inthewaitingarea,wearearoundfiftypeople,

all (besides us) over sixty-five and not one person has anyone accompanying them to thehospital.In India thisneverhappens—there isalwayssomeone to takeyou to thehospital.Even if

yourchildrenlivefaraway,therewillbecousins,buas,chachis,evenneighbours;someonealwayssteps in.Lookingat theseoldpeopleshufflingalongbythemselves,all Icansayis:Wemayhavepotholed roadsbutat leastwehavemanypeoplewilling to travelwithusonthem.

3 p.m.:We decide to go to the nearest city, which is Hamburg, and I cajole an extremelyreluctantmanof thehouse to takeabus tourwithme. In themoviebusiness,we travel theworld,butallwereallyseeareourmirrors,hotelroomsandtheshootinglocations;sonowthatshowbizisfarbehindme,IamdeterminedtoseetheworldthewayIshouldhavealltheseyears.

3.30p.m.:Wearesittingontheupperdeckofthetourbusandourfirstdestinationisthered-lightdistrictofHamburg.Asthegeriatricmeninthebusarecraningtheirnecks,Imakeafewphonecallsandgetyelledatbymyrotund,red-facedGermantourguide,andamaskedtogositinthebasement.Istartcorrectinghimthatabasementtechnicallymeansadwellingunderneathgroundlevel

andevenifIgobelowthebusandliedownbetweenthetyres,Istillwon’tbeinthebasement,butthemanofthehousepullsmyarmandusesthisasagreatexcusetoendourcitytour.

7.30p.m.:ThemanofthehouseisnotfeelingtoowellandIdecidetogodowntothehotelrestaurantbymyself.Itisanicedayandtherestaurantispartiallyoutdoor,soIdecidetositin

the fresh air and enjoy a steak. I look around and see that almost every table is filledwithpeople,most of whom have brought their dogs along for dinner. I like dogs, I have twoGermanshepherdsathome(puntotallynotintended),andIwonderattheirculturewhichissodifferentfromours,ofbringingtheirpetseverywherewiththem.There isacutedogat thenext table,and theowner,anolderGerman lady, smilesatme

politelyandnodswhenIaskherifIcangiveherdogapieceofmysteak.Ithrowthepiecedownandthedoggratefullylapsitup,andbeforeIknowit,theGermanladyistellingmethatifIdon’twanttoeatmysteak,Ishouldgivethewholethingtoherdog.Iamnotthathungry,soIcutafewbites,butsuddenlymyneighbourisgivingmebriskinstructions,‘No,cutzeepiecesmaller,maketinier!’Idomybestandthenshesays,‘Mydogdoezn’teatsalt,sopleazesuckzepiecesofsteak,zhenfeedher.’

SohereIam,cuttingmysteak intobits, following instructions tomake it tinier,poppingeachpieceintomymouth,suckingthesaltandfinallyfeedingittoadog.IcomeuptotheroominafuryanddeclarethatIwanttobaneverythingmadeinGermany,

especially all these bossy Germans. The man of the house looks up from his iPad, sighsdeeply and says, ‘Okay, darling, throw out our Siemens fridge, sell theMercedes, tear upyourDeutscheBankchequebook,quiteatingBlackForestcake,burnmyHugoBosssuitandtossawayyourMontblancpen.’Iamstaringathiminhorror,aweandshock.Hehasneverdisplayedhisexpertise in the

areaofgeneralknowledgepriortothis,andIstutterandask,‘Er. . .Howdoyouknowalltheseuhh...thingsareGermanandall?’Hesmirksandsays,‘YouarenottheonlyonewhocanuseGoogle,youknow?’Crap!ColumbushasfinallydiscoveredAmerica.

U:UndressedUnderDuress

8a.m.: Iamwalkingonthebeachwithmysister-in-lawwhenshe tellsmethatsheknowsagood acupuncturist. The gentleman ismymother-inlaw’s old friend and since I have beenmoaningaboutafrozenshoulderthatisnotrespondingtophysiotherapyandshehasakneeproblemthatisalsonotgettinganybetter,perhapsit’stimetotrysomealternativetherapy.

11a.m.:Wehavemadeanappointmenttoseethedoctor.AmidstmygigglesondiscoveringhisnameisDrLuv,weconfirmourpresenceathisclinicat4p.m.

3.45p.m.:WearestandingoutsideDrLuv’sclinic.Itisadingylittlebuildinginthefar-flungsuburbsandbeforeIcanringthebell,thedoorfliesopenandit’sthegooddoctorhimself.

4p.m.:Theclinicisdeserted,barringthedoctorandayoungorientalboywhoissluggishlydustingthereceptiontable.WestartgivingDrLuvourmedicalhistoryandsoonenoughheleadsustotwotinyrooms

andtellsustoundresssothathecanstartourtreatment.Wetrytellinghimthathecanjustjabtheneedlesintherequiredspots,buthegivesusabiglectureabouthow,inacupuncture,oneneedstohealandtreattheentirebodyandnotjustthesymptoms.Weareusheredintodilapidated,mustyrooms.Throughthewall,Iwhispertomysister-in-

law,‘Whydowehavetoundress?Whatif therearecamerasheretosecretlyfilmus?Let’sjustfindsomeexcuseandrunaway.’WedecidetotellDrLuvthatIamunabletobreathe,asIamallergictomouldandwewill

dothetreatmentsomeothertime.Toourhorror,thedoctorlooksunperturbed,andsays,‘Iwillcometoyourhouseanddo

thetreatment.’Istutter,‘Butyourotherpatients?Howcanyouleavethem?’‘Don’tworry!’ he says and calls out to the boywho is nowdusting some shelves, ‘Aye,

Nepali, listen!Kukrejawill come at 5 p.m. for his treatment, usko bees pachees sui ghusadena’(shovetwenty–twenty-fiveneedlesintohim).TheNepaliboylooksshockedandterrified,butmeeklynods.

4.45p.m.:IamdrivingasfastasIcan,buteachtimeIlookintherear-viewmirror,IseeDrLuv still followingus in his dilapidated1984maroonMercedes. I tellmy sis-in-law, ‘Godknowsiftheneedlesaresterilized!Ifweareforcedtoundergothis,atleastlet’sgetsomenewacupunctureneedles.’

My sister-in-law swiftly makes a few calls, and lo and behold, has organized newacupunctureneedlestobedeliveredtothehouseshortly.

5.35p.m.:DrLuvhasunfortunatelynotlosthisway,andunabletostallhimanymore,Igetreadyforthetreatmentthesamewayaprisonergetsreadyfortheguillotine.Justintime,mysister-in-lawrushesintotheroomwiththefreshneedlesandaremarkableexcuse,‘DrLuv,whydon’tyouusetheseneedles?SomeonegaveittomeonDiwalilastyearandit’sjustbeenlyinghereuselessly.’Iamstaringatheraghast.Whatadaftexcuse!Whogivesanyoneacupunctureneedlesfor

Diwali!EvenDrLuv looksshocked,but she thrusts theneedlesandherchest towardshim,andit’sadonedeal.

7 p.m.: The treatment is over and I now have the answer to two mystical questions that Iwouldn’t even have thought of in the first place.Whatwill happen to a human beingwhomanagestofall

in between two porcupines trying to mate? And why do they say that acupuncture is atreatmentdonebypricks?Hmm...Abadpunhurts,butLuvdefinitelyhurtsmore.

V:VictoryLiesinCuttingYourLossesandnotYourWrists

Tuesday

6 a.m.: The prodigal son is leaving for a school trip and, as usual, theweary, bleary-eyedparentsarecalledtoschoolat8a.m.togetafinalbriefingbeforethemuch-awaitedtrip,andthatisthesolereasonthatIamallreadyinjeans,acomfortablekurtaandmyflip-flops.

6.15a.m.:Mysonlooksatmeinalarmandsays,‘Noway,Mom,youalwayswearthissamekurta, you can’t come to school like this!Wear that nice dress you wore to that birthdayparty!’Myson,unfortunately,likeallmen,hasavisionoftheperfectwomanandsinceIamthe

onlywomaninhisliferightnow,thisvisionisperiodicallyfoistedonme.

Commentsfromtherecentpast:

1.Yourhairdoesn’tlooknice,dothatthingwiththatrollerthingyouhave.

2.Canyouwearabeltwiththatdress,youlookpregnant.

3.Openyourponytailandbringyourhairinfront(thiswhileplayingbadminton).

4.Whyhaveyouputsomuchlipstick?Reddoesn’tsuityou,Mom.

5.Fixthatbutton,Mom!Youcan’tgooutlikethis.

Sighingdeeply,Iignorehiscommentsandfocusonthrustingvegetablejuicedownhisthroat,andwegetintothecar.

8a.m.:Thefifty-oddpeopleinthisroom(includingme)looklikewearetryingoutforapartin the next season ofTheWalkingDead, but thankfully before we all start snoring in ourchairs,thepresentationstarts.ThefirstslidecomesonandasIampeeringoverthetopofsomefreakishlytallfather ’s

head,Inoticethatthefirstlineontheslidestatesthatwehavetodropourkidsoffonthe12th

ofJanuaryandpickthemuponthe14thofNovember.Cantheschoolreallybekindenoughtotakeourchildrenoffourhandsforovertenmonths?Anotherparentwhocannotresistthetemptationtothroweggontheteacher ’sface,putshishandsupandpointsout theobvious,‘Oh,Miss,seeintheboard,itsays14thNovember.Youmakemistakelikethis?’Thepoor teacherdoesn’tpointout thegrammaticalmistakes inhisstatement,butsimply

reassuresusthattheyare,infact,takingourchildrenforonlyfivedays,andgivesusalonglistofitemstobepacked.

Thursday

4p.m.Me:‘HaveyoupackedyourVicksthermometer?’Him:‘Mom,leavemealone,whyareyouobsessedwiththatthing!’

6p.m.Him:‘Mom,canIpackmypepperspray?’Me:‘Idon’tthinkyouwillneedit,theteachersarearoundyou24/7!’Him:‘That’swhyIneedit!’

8p.m.Him:‘Mom,IhavepackedmySwissArmyknife.’Me:‘Why?AreyougoingonaschooltriportryingtoattackAfghanistan?’Him:‘Mom,yourjokessuck.’

Sunday

6.45a.m.:Wearedrivingtohisfootballmatch.Istartgivinghimtipsonsafetyduringthetrip.Everythingfrom‘Ifyoufalloffthecanoeandseeashark,don’tpanic’to‘Shakeyourshoesandclothesbeforewearingthemincaseaninsecthascrawledinside.’Perhapsit’sthemorningairorthefactthatwearedrivingaloneondesertedroads,butthe

conversationtakesitsownrouteandIstarttellinghimthatwhenweweregrowingup,allweweretoldwas,‘Tryandtryhardertillyoudie’andtodaylifeisdifferent,thereisbraveryinquitting, in not staying in one place for the sake of it. I ask him, ‘What will you do ifsomethingdoesn’tworkout?’Hesays,‘Iwillkeeptryingandnevergiveup!’andItellhim,‘No,remember,theonlypersonyoucaneverchangeisyourself;afteryouhavedonethatandyou are the best you that you can be, let go.There is always another job, anotherwoman,

anotherbestfriend.Eachdaythatyoupersistinasituationwhereyouaremiserableisadaywastedonthepaththatwouldleadyoutohappiness.’Helooksatmeandsays,‘SoyouaresayingIshouldtaketheeasywayout?’AndIsay,‘No,Iwantyoutoknowthedifferencebetweentryingandholdingon.’

Monday

4.20a.m.:ThemanofthehouseandIputhisthingsinthecarandwedrivetotheairport.

4.45a.m.:Theprodigalsonseeshisfriendsstandingoutsidetheairport,grabshisthingsandrunsinexcitementtohisgroup.Theystartgoinginsideandjustbeforehegoesin,heturnsaroundandgivesmeaquickwave.Onedayhewillbeinmyplaceandwhathewilllearnthenisthattryingandholdingonare

complicatedandchallengingthings,butthemostdifficultthinginlifeistolovefiercelyandthenletgo.Imusterasmileandblowhimakiss.Godspeed.

W:WherearetheHomingPigeonsWhenYouNeedThem?

7a.m.:MyphonemakesastrangledsoundandIstumbleoutofbed,groaningandholdingmyhead.Lastnight,Ihadtobravethemostfearsomeanimalofall:thequintessentialBollywoodparty,andinordertostandstillintheeyeofthishurricane,Itookatwo-prongedapproachtoretainmysanity.

1.Afive-minuteyogasessionbeforeleavingforthepartytoalignmybody,soulandmind.

2.FivedrinksdownmythroatafterreachingthepartytodeludemyselfintothinkingthatIamfunnierandsmarterthanItrulyam.

7.05a.m.:MyphonepingsagainandIseeeightWhatsAppforwardsaboutloveandkindness.IwonderifonaSundaymorningalltheseenthusiasticdo-gooderscouldsendouttrulyhelpfulthingslike‘11curesforahangover ’or‘Howtocleanpukestainsfromyourdress’.Ihavenosuchluck;allIgetarestrangemessageslike‘Littlememoriescanlastforyears’.Veryusefulwhenyouaretryinghardtoforgetalltheembarrassingthingsyoudidthenightbefore.DoIreallyneedmessagessaying,‘Alittlehugcanwipeoutabigtear ’or‘Friendshipisa

rainbow’?Thereisalsoamessagesaying,‘Godbluesyou’,whichIamtryingtoguesscouldmean

thateitherGodwantstoblessme,rulemeormakeabluemoviewithme.

Has it ever happened that a murderer just before committing his crime gets a messagestating,‘Lifeisaboutloving’,andstopsinhistracks,orabankerreads‘Nogreatersinthancheating’,andquitshisjob?So,whatdothesemessagesreallydo?Ithinktheyallowlazypeopletothinkthattheyare

doingagooddeedintheeasiestpossiblemannerbysendingthesedaftbitsofinformationoutintotheuniverse.Goout there!Sweepapavement,plant a tree, feeda straydog.Do something, anything;

rather than justusingyour fingers to tap threekeysanddestroy600people’sbraincells in

oneshot.

11a.m.:This is turningout tobeahecticday.TheworkthatIhavetoaccomplishseemstorangefrombeggingthedentisttoseeoursonwhohasmanagedtobreakpartofhisbracesona Sunday morning (why can’t these children choose a Tuesday or Thursday to manglethemselvesisbeyondme)togettingthebabyreadyforherfriend’sbirthdayparty.Ispendhalfanhourwrappingthepresentartisticallywithcontrastingbows,becauseIam

obsessedwithsillythingslikegiftwrappingratherthanseriousmatterslike‘DidKiranBedireallytowthePM’scar?’

1p.m.:IampeeringatgrocerybillswrittenhalfinHindi,withafewgibberishEnglishwords,andtherestinwhatcouldbeSwahili,whenIstartseeingmessagesonmyiPhonelike,‘Oh,tsheissocute,IjustsawonFacebook.’WonderingifmyfriendhasseenthepictureIpostedofaFrenchcoffeecupandhasdecidedtoforgotherulesofgrammar,Iignoreitandgobacktomybills.Ping!Anothermessage,‘Shelooksjustlikeyouringletsandall.’Timetoinvestigate...IgotomyFacebookpageandinsheerhorrordiscoverthatthereisavideoofthebabyand

mepostedonmypage.

FLASHBACK: 9 a.m.: The baby is running around in her grandmother ’s house, she issnatchingmylimejuice,sheis throwingpeanutsatmymother-inlaw,sheisrattlingtheTVremote,sheisclimbingonourdog—inotherwords,sheisdrivingmecrazy,andinordertocalmherdownIgivehermyphone.

ENDRESULT:Shehasrandomlyjabbedafewbuttons,managedtohitbull’seyeandpostedthisvideoonFacebookwhereIaminmyeleven-year-oldnightgownwithtoothpasteinmyhair,holdingthesaintlylooking(DrJekyllandMrHyde)baby,pointingat thecamera,andsaying,‘Showmeyourbellybutton...Showmeyourbellybutton’againandagain.Ifthemanofthehouseeverwantssolecustodyofthechildren,hecanproducethisvideoin

courttoprovethatIamunstable,ondrugs,andundisputedlyderanged.Iquicklydeletethevideo,butnotbefore720peoplehaveseenitonmy(sofaronlywork

related)‘TheWhiteWindow’page.

4p.m.:IamdrivingbyJuhuandIseeabeautifulpeacockperchingonarustybuildinggate.Ifranticallypointhimouttothebaby,bringmycartoascreechinghaltandwhipoutmyphoneto takeasublimephotoof thisextremelyunusualmoment,only to find thatmymemory isfull as I have just received twenty-eight WhatsApp images from my cousin Kamalnath(Sweetie)Khanna.

5p.m.:IhavenowformulatedmyownWhatsAppforwardmessagewhichIamgoingtosendto my entire contact list, and it goes like this: ‘Dear Sir/Madam, I have recently beendiagnosedwithSystematicPsychoticUrgeDisorder(SPUD),andrandomforwardsseemtoworsenmycondition.Pleasehelpmesavetheplanetonepersonatatime.Godbluesyou.’

7p.m.:Iaminthegymfranticallytryingtoundolastweek’scupcakedamagewhenIgetanSMSfromthemanofthehouse,stating,‘Iamonmywayhome.’I quickly call him because he left for Nepal this morning and am pretty sure he was

supposed to be there for a week. He answers the phone, snorts and says, ‘I sent you thatmessageyesterday!’

7.04 p.m.: I finish my phone call only to realize that while I was talking, my iPhone hasmanaged todialandredial InspectorBapatatJuhupolicestation44 timesfornorhymeorreason,andbeforeIgetarrestedforharassingthepolice,Iquicklyswitchmyphoneoff.

9p.m.:Afterin-depthanalysisIhavecometotheconclusionthatGodwasrightwhenhetoldAdamtoleavetheapplealone,andI,too,decidetogiveupapples,blackberriesandanyothernewfruitsoftechnology,andfromnowoncommunicateonlythroughhomingpigeons.

X:XeroxCopyofMomRequired

Afewyearsago,attheripeoldageofseven,theprodigalsonbroughthomeagirl.Shewasabitplump,abitbossyandabitaggressive,andremindedmeofsomeone,thoughIcouldn’tquiteputmyfingeronit.Shewoulddropbyforplaydatestwiceaweek,andthingsweregoingalongsplendidlytill

onefineday,whileIwaswashingtheprodigalson’shair,withsoapsudsalloverhiseyes,hedecidedtoenlightenmewiththefactthatheisinlove.Afewsecondslater,Iwasflatonmybackonthebathroomfloor.Sincethisisnotablack-

and-whiteHindimovie,Ihadnot,infact,sufferedaheartattack,buthadmerelyslippedonthebarofsoapwhichhadfallenoutofmyhandinshockatthispronouncement.Meanwhile,hecontinuedchatteringaway.‘Sheisverynice,Mom,andsheisjustlikeyou.

Shealsotalkstomethewayyoutalktodad—“Comehererightnow!Dothisjustnow!”’Ifeeblymuttered,‘Idon’treallytalklikethisanduh...Idoyogaandstuff,so...Iamnot

bossyanymore.’Visions of having a mini-me daughter-in-law started swimming in my brain, and I

hurriedlycontinued,‘Ithinkyoushouldfindgirlslikegranny;sheissokindandnice,no?’He paused for amoment, gaveme a fierce glare and continued, ‘I don’t like girls like

granny,andIlikeMinabecausesheisjustlikeyou.’Afewdayspassedandjustlikeanygrown-uprelationship,afewproblemsstartedcreeping

upbetweenthemaswell.Like...

1.Shedoesn’tlikehiscousinandhastoldhimnottobringhertoanyofthebirthdaypartiesthattheyattend.

2.Shedoesn’t like the fact thatwhen theywere playing together, his grandmother came tovisitandhejumpedup,huggedhisgrannyandsaidhowhappyhewastoseeher.

3. She doesn’t like hismother andhas questionedhim as towhyhewas sitting next to hismotherandsuckingonalollipopwhenheshouldhavebeenontheswingwithher.

4.Shedoesn’tlikehimplayingwithhiscameraandhasnaggedhimsomuchaboutitthathepromptlytookhiscameraandlockedhimselfinthebathroomandrefusedtocomeouttillsheleft.Though thiswould have been enough to pushmarried people to seek divorce courts, in

theirworldofbubblegumandcandyfloss,thesewerejustminorhiccups.

Their love story came to an abrupt endwhenmy pudgy seven-year-old nemesis had toleaveMumbaiwithherfamilyforgreenerpastures.Asshepackedherbagsandhemadeheragoodbyecard,Iopenedabottleofchampagne

andheavedasighofrelief.So,ifyoufindyoursoninlovewithalittleHitlerinpigtails,thereisnotmuchyoucando

exceptstepoutof theway,go toholyplaces, fastonalternateFridaysanddesperatelypraythatbysomecosmicforce,her father is immediately transferred toadestinationsoremotethatevenGoogleMapsisbewilderedastoitswhereabouts.

Y:YoungUnderdogs

At thestartof1989,we lived inabursting-atthe-seams joint-family-stylehousewithelevenloosely relatedmembersof the familyandonebigdog.This tribewas lordedoverbymyformidablegrandmother.Shethrewdollopsofloveandfoodourwayandkepttryingtodrivethedog,Caesar,away.Shedisliked thedog severelybecausehenevergot toilet trainedandwalkedaroundour

houseasifitwereonegiantcommode.Monthlyargumentsbetweenmysister—atrueloverofallsortsofhairycreatures—andgranny—aprobablehaterofallsortsofhairycreatures—ensuedaboutthefateofthedog,whichonlyledtoherhatingthedogevenmoreandbeingunabletodoanythingaboutit.Ayearlater,myauntseparatedfromherSardarhusbandandcamebacktolivewithus.She

didnotcomebackaloneandthusJimmywasintroducedintoourlives.Jimmy’sparentswererelatedtomyaunt’sex-husbandandthoughtheylivedinJalandhar,

theyfeltthatlittleJimmywouldhaveabetterlifeinMumbaiwithhisdistantrelatives.Myauntdevelopedagreatfondnessforhimandsoonhebecamepartofherhousehold,andwhenshelefthermaritalhome,inabizarrechainofevents,Jimmywastheonlyalimonyshebroughtalong.Hewasaspritelysix-year-oldturbanedwonderandjustanotheroddcreatureaddedtoour

strangecauldron,andbecause Iwas in juniorcollege (which is the timeofone’s lifewhenonedoes absolutelynothing), certain responsibilitieswere foisted onme.Namely, lookingafterJimmy’shomeworkandtakinghimswimmingtwiceaweektothelocalclub.He taughtmePunjabi, I taughthim someEnglish, and lifewenton. I vaguely remember

makinghimandmysistercoatourneighbour ’scarwithsuchathicklayerofwetmudthatnotaspeckofitsoriginalgleamingmetalwasvisible.And then therewere our swimming sessions— getting him lessons at the club and then

forcinghimtodolaps, finallychasinghimoutof thepool,aquickshowerandarickshawridebackhome.Onefineafternoon,wewereboth in the ladiesshowerroom,bathingwithourswimsuits

on,aspartofourdailyroutine.IscrubbedhisRapunzel-likehairintheshowercubicleand,ashewasrinsingoff,Istartedshampooingmyown.Inlessthanaminute,Iheardtwopiercingshrieks.Iopenedmyeyesandlookedaroundfrantically,onlytorealizethatJimmyhadslidinthegapsbetweencubiclesandhademergedthreecubiclestotheleft,whereaParsiladywasshowering in the buff.Awizened-lookingboywithwaist-length hair semi-plastered on hisface,poppingupsuddenlywhileyouarescrubbingyourarmpitswouldscareeventhebravestofus.

AnangrycomplaintwasdulyfiledagainstJimmyandhisneglectfulguardian,andwewerebothbarredfromtheclubforamonth.Allwaswellexceptmygrannyhadaslightaversiontothishairycreatureaswell.Shewas

fedupofcleaninghissandwichcrumbsfromherbedsidetable,ofweeklycombingthroughhis long, stringy hair looking for lice and ofmaking sure hewas suitably fed during thehoursmyauntwasworking.

Shenevervoicedherdisapproval,butallthemutteringunderherbreathmadeherfeelingsabouttheJimmysituationloudandclear.Aswasinevitable,thetwounderdogsinthefamily,oneof thecaninevarietyand theotherof theSardarvariety, trudgeda remarkableallianceandmysisterwaspartofthisstrangegroupaswell.Timewentby.Jimmylostafewmilkteethandgrewafewothersback.HewouldsitontheporchonweekendsandtakeoutCaesar ’sticksandmygrannywouldbe

reluctantlycombingthroughhishair,lookingforbloodsuckersofanothervariety.Notmuchwouldhavechangedthisequation,tillherbelovednieceMasooma,all thewayfromTexas,cametoattendafuneral,butendedupstayingwithusforafortnight.MasoomawouldgrabherCadbury,aMills&Boonandapillow,andheadstraighttothe

hammock tied between two trees in our garden, every evening at 4, and tumble out of herreadingnookonlytwohourslater.Onedayasshewaslyinginthehammockonaratherwindyday,Caesarwentuptoherand

startedbarking, andwouldnot stop.Hearing thedin, Jimmyandmy sister cameout to thegarden. I scrambled out ofmy room as well to joinmy grannywhowas standing on theporch; shewas livid atwhat sheperceived as yet another annoyance causedby thismotleycrewthatwerenowdisturbingherpreciousNRIrelative.Caesar leaped towards the hammock, and Jimmy, thinking that he was about to attack

Masooma, yanked her arm so hard that all three of them tumbled four feet away from thehammockintothegrass.Mygrannyscreamedinfury,andjustasshetooktwosteps,themonsoonwind,inafurious

gust,managedtobreakamassivetreebranch,whichlandedexactlyonthehammock.Everyonewasinshock.VisionsofMasoomagettingcrushedbythebranchwererunning

through our minds. My granny gave Jimmy the tightest hug ever. Caesar was declared avisionarydogthatcouldforetellthatMasoomawasingravedangerandhadthusbarkedhislungsouttosaveher.Ofcourse,hewasbequeathedthestatusofahero.Justlikeablockbustermovie,theunderdogshadtriumphed,anevilcosmicforcehadbeen

vanquishedandamaidenhadbeenrescued.

Iwish Icouldsay that they livedhappilyeverafter,but twomonthsafterMasoomawentbacktoTexas,thingswentbacktonormal.TheinvisiblebraverymedalsbestowedonCaesarandJimmyweretakenawayasCaesardecidedtobitethedhobi,andJimmythrewuponmygranny’sbrother.Thus,bothofthemweresoonrelegatedtotheirpreviouspositions.

MORALOFTHESTORY:Yourgreatestmomentinlifesoonjoinsaseriesofothermomentsandisoftenforgotten.Asyourise,soshallyoueventuallyfall.

Z:ZipYourMouthforGod’sSake

8a.m.:TodayisRakshaBandhan,anancientfestivalwhereasistertiesarakhi(sacredthread)on her brother ’s wrist. This symbolizes the bond between them. The sister prays for herbrother ’swell-beingandthebrotherpromisestoprotectherfromallharm.OneofthelegendarystoriesaboutrakhiinvolvesRaniKarnavati,thewidowofthekingof

Chittor,whosent a rakhi toemperorHumayunso thathewould refrain from invadingherkingdom.No,Ididn’tknowallofthis,buthavelookeditupjusttoanswerthemillionquestionsthat

mychildrenareboundtoaskme.TherearetimeswhentheyaskmethingsthatIdon’thaveananswerto,like‘Butwhatisblue?’,or‘IfGodiseverywhere,sowhenIdopotty,amIdoingpotty onHim?’However, for thequeries that dohave some sort of an answer, I like to bethoroughlyprepared.

10 a.m.: The baby is struggling to tie a rakhi onto her brother ’s wrist; the brother keepsmuttering that having a shiny orange threadwith a picture of a bare-chested SalmanKhanwrappedaroundhiswristisjustnotcool.

This is apparently my fault because I called Vinod Book Store (a shop that can supplyseasonaldecorations,pens,wrappingpaper;anythingbesidesthebooksthatitclaimstosellonitsbillboard)andrequestedthemtosendoneoftheirbestsellingrakhis,andIgotthisinreturn.Well,itseemsSalmanreallyiseveryone’sfavouritebhai.

10.30a.m.:Myphoneringsandit’smummyjiwhoinformsmethatsixofherrealbrothers,two not-real brothers (are they imaginary?) and hordes of cousins are coming over thisevening.IamthenenlightenedwiththefactthatImusthavesomesnacksreadyforthemandthat I shouldwear thatprettyorangesalwarkameez that shegavemeasa surprisegift lastweek.

11a.m.:Themanofthehouse,whoalsohasarealsisterandthirteencousins,hasaskedmetohavegiftsreadyfortheentirebrigade.HeseesthesarisIhavepickedoutforthemandsays

thatIambeingmiserlyandstingy,andthatIshouldgetthemalljewelleryinstead.Ohgreatkarmic force, if Imiraculouslyget reincarnatedasawomanagain insteadofa

spideroradogflea,thenletmebebornasoneofthemanofthehouse’ssisters.Theyfloatinandoutof thehouseas theyplease;mymother-in-lawshowers loveandmoneyoneachofthemandtheygetpreciousgemsforrakhi;whereasallIgetisthewonderfultitleofbeinganall-rounddogsbody.

1.30p.m.:MommydearestsentanantiquedoortomyhouseyesterdaydespitemeprotestingthatIalreadyhaveenoughdoorstoenteralltheroomsinmyhouse.I amnow looking at thismonstrositywhichmy desi Jeeves has propped in front ofmy

cupboardandwonderinghowIamsupposedtogetdressedatall.

1.50p.m.:Theantiquedoorhasbeenpushedoutofthewayandmywardrobeisonceagainatmydisposal.Ipullouttheorangesalwarkameezanditdoesnotfit.EitherIhavelosttonsofweight,ormorelikely,thiswasgivenasagifttomymother-in-

law,andnotbeingworthyofadorningherfineform,shesimplypasseditontome.Well,togive her the benefit of the doubt, at least it’s my favourite colour and I can always get italteredby156inchesallover.6 p.m.: I can’t cook but since my philosophy in life is based on never revealing my

weaknesses to my in-laws, I have called Nature’s Basket and asked them to deliver seekhkebabsandsamosasthatneedtobeputinboilingoilforthreeminutesandarethenreadytoserve.Aminutesavedisaminutethatcanbeusedforusefulthings,likeweighingmyselfforthefourteenthtimethatweek.

6.30p.m.:Theprodigalsonhasdecidedthatwemustatleastfrythesesnacksourselvesandhasbanishedourcookfromhisdomain.Hehasalotoftrainingfromhisfatherand,unlikeme, isquitehandyin thekitchen.OftenonaSaturdaymorning,hemakesFrenchtoastwithsprinkledcinnamon,andIamratherproudofhisculinaryskills.Theoilisboilinginthepanandthekitchenisstuffy.Gettingratherirritatedwiththeheat,I

startgrumblingabouthowweIndiansalwayshavetomakeenoughfoodtofeedanarmyandhowIndianshavesomanyfestivalsthatarealwaysaboutfood;theprodigalsoninterruptsmeandasks,‘But,Mom,whatdoesitreallymeantobeIndian?’Idon’tevenpauseforabeatandstartreciting,‘Weareanancientraceofoptimists,who

holdourpastfirmlywhilewewalkintothefuture.Wehavenuclearpowerreactors,butstillbelieveinthepowerofblackthreadsencirclingourwrists.Wehavesuchstrongfamilybondsthatevenifsomeoneisjustgoingtothetrainstation,therewillbeelevenpeople,allloadedupinatempotoaccompanyhimandwe...’Buthelooksupatmeandsays,‘No,Mom,tellmewhatyoureallythink.Iknowtheway

youspeak, thisweirdzombie toneis thesameoneyouuse toanswerpeoplewhentheyaskyouwhichisyourfavouritetempleorwhatyoulovecooking!Tellmethetruth.’

‘Allright,’Isay,‘ifyouwantanhonestanswer,thenMadeinIndiaisjustalabelcodedinyourgenes.Itisrandomchancethatoneisbornwithincertainman-madeboundaries,orisofacertainrace,orofacertainreligion,nothingmore.Sohowdoesbeingbornthissideofaborderortheothermakeanygroupofpeoplebetterthananothergroup?IfGodexists,thenIdoubtifHepreferspeopleonthebasisoftheirknowingSanskritorUrduorEnglishorGer...’Theprodigalsongetsallbug-eyedandscreeches,‘What?’hesplutters.‘Whatdoyoumean

ifGodexists?Godisnotreal?Youhaveneversaidthisbefore,Mom!’Holycow!Mybrainhasbeenspinningwith somany thoughts that I absolutely forgot to

evaluatemywordsbeforethrowingthemalloutintheair.All these years I haven’t voiced my opinions (well, a few sarcastic remarks may have

slippedthrough)outofrespectforhisfather ’sbeliefs,andmyrespectfor theprodigalsonhimselfthatheshouldgrowupandformhisownconvictionsratherthanhaveminefoistedonhim.NowhereIam,inthishot,stickykitchen,wavingawayfliesfromthesamosasandhavingtofinallyconfessthatit’snotjusttheritualsthatIdon’tseesensein,butalsothemainguyHimself.I takeadeepbreathandfinallyall Isayis this, ‘I just thinkthatpeoplerely toomuchon

God;insteadofaskingtobeinGod’sfavour,Iwouldratherstacktheoddsinmyfavour.Attheveryleast,IamcertainthatIexist.Butaskyourdadallthesequestions,youknowIamnotthereligioustype.’Helooksupatmewithhisbigblueeyes(hisandherrecessivegenesinperfectalignment)

andsays,‘Mom,youknowwhat?Youshouldwriteabookaboutwhatallyouthink,allthiscoolstuffaboutbordersandall.’I swingmymosquito racquet like I amplaying in theGrandSlam finals,demolisha fly

abouttositonmysamosas,andsay,‘PerhapssomedayIwill.’

8 p.m.: Everyone has gathered at my mother-in-law’s home. There are old Hindi songsplaying and everywhere you look people aremunching on jalebis and tikkas, and chattingaway.Alargegroupinthecornerisbusyplayinghousie.Themanofthehouseisinchargeof theproceedingsandeachnumber isannouncedinawhimsicalmanner, ‘Eightandeight,twounclesonadate!’I am introduced to my sister-in-law’s new rakhi brother which in today’s day and age

probablymeans: I likeyoua littleandalso findyouabitcreepy, thushaveno intentionoffornicatingwithyou,butIneedanotherrelative,asmytwenty-eightrelativesarenotenoughtocelebrateour168festivals.

9.30p.m.:Theprodigalsonisgentlyholdinghisbabysister ’shandashenavigatesbetweencousinsandfriends.SometimeswhenIlookatthemfromadistance,Itryandsquintmyeyesand clearmymind. I peer at them theway a strangerwould—without any emotions, just

observations. In this large fortress I hadcreatedaroundmyheart, theone that letmeentersituationseasilyandleaveevenmoreeasily,howdidtheyfindacatflapthatallowedthemtocrawlintomysoul?Asisinevitable,whileIamdoingmysquintingbusiness,abulkyauntyhasmanagedtotrip

overanotherrelativewhoisknownonlyasChotaVijay.Yes,heisshortandno,hedoesn’tfeelterribleabouthisnickname.Auntyjihasnotonlytrippedoverhim,buthassplatteredherkesarlassionme.AperfectendtomyperfectdayandthisisjusttheexcuseIneedtomakeahastyexit.JustasIamabouttoleave,Ispotmymother-in-lawmunchingonmysamosaswithhersix

realandtwonot-imaginarybrothers.SheisplayingcardsonalittletablewiththemandIcanhearthemchatteringinPunjabiandcacklingaway.Herwaysaredifferentfrommine;she treatsmelikeherdaughteronmostdaysandlike

herdaughter-in-lawonafewothers,butshehastheabilitytopullthewholefamilytogetherandcreategatheringslikethiseffortlesslyandsometimesIenvythat.Ilingernearthedoor.Ihavetopackforanearlymorningflighttomorrowtoyetanother

tradefairandthesoursmelloflassiiswaftingthroughmyhair,butIstilllinger.I watch them like I have from the beginning, an oddball in this world of traditions and

rituals. And as I continue dilly-dallying, the man of the house calls out, ‘Oye, where yougoing?Stayforawhileanddancewithus,na.’DoIwanttogobacktomyfactual,functionalworldorlingeronintheirsaffron-coloured,

cardamom-scentedcosmosthatresoundswithbhangraanddholak?Iamamisfithere,likemostwomenthatenterfamilieswhicharesodifferentfromtheirs.

But I keep these thoughts tomyself and stay.And for the next few hours,matching all thecousins,stepforstep,Imakemyownlittleplace.Will I inhabit this spot in perpetuum? I am not sure, but right now, with a string of

borrowed jasmine flowers wrapped around my bun to mask the smell of yogurt, and mydupattaflutteringinthedraughtfromthecreakyairconditioner,Idancetothedrumbeatsandthenightslipsaway.

Acknowledgements

IwouldliketothankmydearhusbandforreadingeverywordthatIhaveeverwritten.YouarethedieselinmyInnova,theheliuminmyballoon,andtheicecubeinmyapplemartini.A big hug tomy sister for trying tomake everything Iwrite politically correct and for

sufferingthroughmy‘Justreadandtellmewhatyouthink?’momentstimeandagain.Thankyou,mommy,forbeingsouniquelymagnificent,everythingIamisbecauseofyou.Mymother-in-lawandsister-in-law,thankyouforbeingwonderfulwomen,andforalways

beingthereforme.AbighugtoAaravandNitara,myheartburstswithjoyjustbybeingaroundyoutwo.SaritaTanwar,bypersuadingmetowritethatfirstcolumn,youopenedup thebarndoor

andallthechickensranoutintothemeadow,sothankyou,myfriend.Thankyou, PritishNandy, for some solid advice and for lendingmeyour ear and your

shoulderaswell.Thiswasyouridea.Ashout-outtomySundayTimeseditor,NeelamRaaj,forallhersupport.AbigthankyoutoGauravShrinageshandthegreatteamatPenguinRandomHouse.Milee

Ashwaryaformakingitallhappen,AparajitaNinan,ShanujV.C.,AmanAroraandCarolineNewbury,thankyouformakingallofthisreal.And finally, I ameternallygrateful tomyeditor,ChikiSarkar, forherkind,but ruthless

advice.Iwouldnothavewrittenthisbookifitweren’tforyou.

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PublishedbythePenguinGroupPenguinBooksIndiaPvt.Ltd,7thFloor,InfinityTowerC,DLFCyberCity,Gurgaon-122002,Haryana,IndiaPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.,375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,USAPenguinGroup(Canada),90EglintonAvenueEast,Suite700,Toronto,OntarioM4P2Y3,CanadaPenguinBooksLtd,80Strand,LondonWC2R0RL,EnglandPenguinIreland,25StStephen’sGreen,Dublin2,Ireland(adivisionofPenguinBooksLtd)PenguinGroup(Australia),707CollinsStreet,Melbourne,Victoria3008,AustraliaPenguinGroup(NZ),67ApolloDrive,Rosedale,Auckland0632,NewZealandPenguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, Block D, Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North,Johannesburg2193,SouthAfrica

PenguinBooksLtd,RegisteredOffices:80Strand,LondonWC2R0RL,England

FirstpublishedbyPenguinBooksIndia2015

www.penguinbooksindia.com

Copyright©TwinkleKhanna2015

IllustrationsbyKruttikaSusarlaSomeofthesepieceshaveappearedinaslightlydifferentformintheTimesofIndia,DNAAfterHrsandotherpublications.

Allrightsreserved

ISBN:978-0-143-42446-8

Thisdigitaleditionpublishedin2015.e-ISBN:978-9-352-14128-9

TextdesignbyVedantiSikka

The views and opinions expressed in this book are the author’s own and the facts are as reported by herwhich have beenverifiedtotheextentpossible,andthepublishersarenotinanywayliableforthesame.

Thisbookissoldsubjecttotheconditionthatitshallnot,bywayoftradeorotherwise,belent,resold,hiredout,orotherwisecirculatedwithoutthepublisher’spriorwrittenconsentinanyformofbindingorcoverotherthanthatinwhichit ispublishedandwithoutasimilarconditionincludingthisconditionbeingimposedonthesubsequentpurchaserandwithoutlimitingtherightsundercopyrightreservedabove,nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinorintroducedintoaretrievalsystem,or transmitted inanyformorbyanymeans(electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recordingorotherwise),without thepriorwrittenpermissionofboththecopyrightownerandtheabove-mentionedpublisherofthisbook.