I am the Queen

A cool whiff of air plays with that stray hair, I adjust my crown. You haven't seen that, have you? I always wear it. I sleep with it tucked between the sheets. Every morning the moment  I wake up, I feel around for my crown. My day starts at that exact moment I set my eyes on my crown, gleaming in its glory, light rays bathing it in a riot of colors. You can find me always adjusting it, as it keeps slipping, a bit over-sized. I should get it corrected, I think, as I await my maidens to make my bath ready. 

At a click of a button, the Everest maiden gets my bath warm and I relish in the shooting sprays of warm water. Fluffy towels await me in the bath stand as I sing and dance. What is a Queen bath without a song and a dance? Lotus flowers spring up all around me and don't ask me how. Pink and purple lilies abound. Bathed and towel dried, I open the closet for selecting the apt attire for the day. Matching sets are selected next, as the imaginary maidens run around me, helping in the selection. The towering glass shows me a reflection of a beautiful queen that I am, adorned to perfection, half an hour later.

A sumptuous breakfast awaits me at the table where I choose my pick, no kelloggs please, I smile. Finishing breakfast, I walk regally to my stables where I hold my horses. I sweet talk to my favorite foal- my mahindra flyte and jump on. Our journey to the Court starts as a slow trot and then we pick up speed. Galloping at full speed we cross caverns and alleys, reaching the Courts on time. The Queen's audience should never start late. The subjects stand up as I enter and I wave my hands asking them to sit and ascend to my 'throne' with aplomb. The throne needs some drastic repair work, I muse as I find people lining up for their audience. It is going to be a long day, I think as I attend to my people.

Remember I am a queen of a tiny Kingdom and I have to slay the demonic barbarians who rule above me. My Reynolds sword gleams as I remove it from its hilt and as I glare at the men who invade my Kingdom, I go on a protective mode. I slay dragons. I vanquish demons. My sword is my ally. Together we are lethal. As I trot back to my Palace after a tiresome day, all I would like is some 'me' time at the Palace Gardens. Peacocks dance around, fountains splash water and as I sip my black chaai 'somapama', relaxing under a canopy of pearl strings, half lying, half sitting on my favorite divan of velvet and satin. 

Every night I retire to my palatial chambers for the night, holding my 'magic pad' that can connect me with the King, who is too busy fighting the war in far away desert lands. Putting the little Prince and Princesses to sleep in no time, I get back to my magic pad to talk about  the day to the King. Preening and boasting of my sword fights and the hands and legs I had chopped off at the battles and the next alignment in battle field, I recline in the four poster canopy bed, surrounded with fluffy cushions. The Voltas maiden at my right starts fanning me and I place my crown beside me. Every night as I close my eyes, drifting to sleep, I keep mouthing- "I am a Queen"! (okay...okay...a drama queen too!) "I love my people and I shall protect my country". Aren't we all ladies? We wield the swords, not the spoons. We slay dragons, those that have four limbs and two mouths. We serve our people. We reign with gusto. The world doesn't end at 36. Till the time we vanquish our Thrones in the offices, it is going to be us and the demons, fighting a war. *Raises sword* To the Queens in us!!

p.s.: Ah... this post is the effect of watching 'Rudramadevi' in 3D.

p.p.s.: I would like to thank Blogadda for selecting my blog as one among the top 5 in 'personal' category. Just give me the coveted award, or I may keep writing!!

p.p.p.s.:  I have been posted to a different station now and travel 5 hours a day. It keeps me tiresome all the time, hence kindly forgive me for the erratic posts :)

I, the missus

This is one more post bordering on feminism, neo-feminism or narcissism...reader's discretion absolutely essential ;) Lightning stuck me one morning, as I was spreading the washed clothes on my favorite treadmill. What was I doing here? In a no man's land...deep in the desert, where civilization existed only beneath the abayas and where life seemed to oscillate between the mundane and the prosaic. Time seemed to have plunged into an abyss of sheer silence and darkness. 

When did I last see the sun? When did I feel the wind whipping my hair? When was the last time I hummed the latest song? Latest now meant few years before...and movies meant blurry images on TV where I had to make out the images of a hero and heroine romancing as shadows...shadow...that described me better. I had forgotten what I was. 

"I" ceased to exist somewhere in that flight between Chennai and Saudi Arabia. "I" was someone with a Central Government job. "I" was someone who had friends. "I" had an identity. I was a self-made, working woman- a mother of two. I loved my job. I enjoyed to draw my pay from the ATM. The feel of fresh, crisp notes slithering in my hand which was the fruit of my hard work was a powerful aphrodisiac.

All that "I" was ended the day I landed up in the desert, pulling the kids and pushing the luggage through the haunted airport lounge. "Cover up properly" was the first comment from the husband. Cover up...stay indoors...keep silent...don't walk beside me...your hair is showing...pull your scarf..don't look at the other males...be careful...don't board a taxi alone...don't go out of the house alone...the list of "Don't Do's" went longer than my grocery bills. Too much of being tied down and I forgot what "I" was. 

Hours of cooking, cleaning, mopping and sleeping...that was all I did. My whole wide world was a 1500 square feet flat with a sloppy washing machine and a stuffy kitchen. All that changed one fine morning. I had to rediscover me. The miracle did happen. A laptop did all the magic. A blog was born and so was the freelancer. Writing an anonymous blog is a luxury that not many could afford and voicing your opinion in various burning issues on world politics in Arab world is a humongous task. 

Being a woman in Saudi Arabia is itself a confinement and breaking the stereotype of an Indian housewife with nothing to do rather than pampering her ever growing muscle mass is an arduous voyage intertwined with grit and determination. Yet...I found a way. The letters to the editor column of Arab News daily paper was sprinkled with fuming anecdotes and anti- Pakistan, pro-Tamil views, courtesy my new found passion for writing. When I started receiving mails as feedback on my letters from unknown persons...I was overcome with glee. 

I was here to stay. I had made a mark- as a woman who was bold enough to voice opinions in a totally male dominated, exclusively Arab ruled Kingdom and I loved every bit of it. Cloud nine blog was receiving great reviews and finally..."I" was someone with an identity. "I" was a successful blogger, an equally successful freelancer and a perennial happy go lucky housewife. And with equal aplomb I landed back on Indian soil. 

That was when all hell broke loose. The country looked new, everything came with a price tag- friendship, honesty, dignity and affection. This is again a metamorphosis, I am learning the ropes afresh and two years back in my job, I am yet to find some proper footing. Life for the 'missus' is happy as always, provided we don't lose the identity of the 'miss'. 

Marriage and moving to a foreign country is just a chapter in the story of life and we need not ghost-write someone's tale. It is after all, our life. We do exist beyond the diaper changes, grocery bills and stinky kitchens. There is a blogger, writer, poet, wife, daughter, mother and sister within me. I can always don the mask that suits me better any time I want. No other name excites me like being called "Akka". Being addressed Mrs. L or the 'missus' of L never made a difference in my life. Despite all the struggles, I wouldn't say my life is all rosy and bright in my profession, "I" still live as "I", not the 'missus' alone! Never lose this "I" for being the missus or the mommy...Its your life after all, babes ;)

p.s.: Sorry about the erratic posting in blog. I am indeed busy traveling and unraveling the mysteries of life ;)

p.p.s.: This video should not be the p.p.s....should have found its place in the post. Ladies out there... enjoy watching ;)

 p.p.p.s.: How does one 'sit simply' idling in an office? In a crash course on idling and picking ear in a century old building at the State Capital. Another post on how to 'sit simbbbbly' follows...keep hooked ;)

I AM A WOMAN...

You may throw me on the ground
You may wish I never come around
You may trample my dreams
You may shatter my hopes
All you can do is harm the 'me' that you see...

Inside of me is the real 'me'
How much ever you hurt me
Making life a living hell
I can always wake up and tell
I AM A WOMAN...

I have seen more thorns
I have felt sharpest pains
I have seen my world ripping apart
I have come up from the start
I AM A WOMAN...

Cocooned inside the shell you see is 'me'
Stronger than the mighty sea
How much ever the storms threaten
I can always rebuild 'me'
I will stand mightier than you men,
I AM A WOMAN...

To the woman in the mirror!

Long lacquered nails are tapping on the table. I look at them and turn green with envy. One look at my chipped and shapeless nails, the beauty queen at the counter smirks with distaste. Will she ever know that once I had twenty bottles of nail-polish tucked away in my fridge? Will she know how methodically every week I removed the polish and repainted the nails with glee? What happens to a married woman post marriage? 

The life of every average Indian woman can be divided into two segments- Before Marriage and After Marriage. The life in BM stage is all rosy and dreamy. It is exams, dresses, latest fashion, ice-creams, teddies and cards. It is all fun and frolic with new dresses every now and then. Kolhapuris to match the lucknowi chikan work cottons, starched Bengal cotton sarees paired with matching jewel sets and an array of slippers, shoes and floaters neatly arranged under the cots. Not to forget the huge teddy that sleeps on top of the lovely lady.

The pinnacle of such glorious womanhood is reached on the days immediately following the Marriage. Shaadi- one word that can turn a kitchen mouse to Cinderella. The boxes of silk sarees, the matching designer blouses, the silver anklets, jhumkas, yards of jasmine and vials of Chanel...ah! Reminds me of a glorious era in life. And just when you think life is a bed of roses, comes the shocker- " Maa! Aaap Maa bannewaali hain!" 

Then starts the slide down the hill that you climbed with so much ease. You forget your lip stick and lip gloss the moment your strawberry gloss makes you throw up. Eye shadows go out the window, your eyes replaced by sleepless nights. No make up. No jewelry- imagine having to wear twenty sovereigns of gold in your neck when your extra ten kilos- laden tummy pulls you forward. Wave your stilettos a farewell, you are not going to need them again in life. Forget your Bengal cottons, you are neither getting the time to starch them nor iron them. 

Forget your dangling earrings, the little angel likes to hang on to it. You can find your face adorned by tiny scratches. Your cheeks become dough, thanks to the frequent pinching by your little one. Long tresses...you forsake them, for you won't have the time handling a toddler and all the combing, shampooing, oiling and pampering the black silk.

Nails? Sssshhhh...don't ever think of them. You might accidentally scratch the soft skin of the baby. Nail polish...do you have the time, really? The perfume is replaced by pungent nappies. All you can smell over you is food left overs deposited by the little one on you or the citrus fragrance of wet wipes. Your kurtas carry the fragrance of mother's milk, complete with the tell tale patches. You try to be your old self only when the toddler starts his pre- school and by that time, one look in the mirror, you will be horrified at the middle aged XL sized woman staring back at you. 

This is that phase of AM that most women give up. Simply give up, because they feel beauty lies in the heart. Every babble of the baby is a compliment to that wonderful feeling called motherhood. Life has become all sharing and caring for the loved ones. Somewhere in this phase, most women feel contentment. Life is only caring for others- the husband, the children. Seldom do they realise, it is their life after all. Looking beautiful is a boon, grooming oneself is an art. 

Women forget the grooming part when weighed down by homework and odd chores. Not everyone enjoys the trivial pleasures of long facials, manicures and pedicures. Not everyone makes it a point to still line up slippers matching the dresses. Not everyone wants to keep updated with the latest in fashion. Yet, thankfully, these days, the tribe of well-dressed and well-groomed middle aged women is growing. 

40s might bring in spectacles. 40s might ring in strict diet regimen. 40s might bring out the dark circles around your eyes. But nothing can outshine the radiance from within. The beauty of living a life for others. The joy of giving plenty of love. The happiness in being 'mommied' all around the place. Still, finding little time for painting the nails, acquiring matching jhumkas for that red mysore silk saree, pairing Jodhpuris with cool cottons, changing your ray- ban aviators once in a while, dressing up complete with lipstick and blow dried, ironed hair for a wedding...all these perks do come attached with having an eye for being presentable. 

Dressing up is the right of a woman, BM or AM. Why should a woman lose the pleasure of dressing beautifully just because her son is in high school? Wearing a jean and sporting a short kurta on a train travel cannot be such a crime! Leaving a lipstick smudge on a coffee cup in cafe day cannot be a sin. Painting your nails black and blue cannot be termed 'wild'. Add spice to the beauty within by accessorizing it with the right make up and hairstyle. Nearing 40 doesn't mean that one has to look akin to a strict convent teacher! Life can be fun AM, provided women understand the need to look beautiful not for other's eyes...just for themselves. After all...it is our lives!

A Wo(e)men's Day Wish!

The shrill whistle of the milk boiler

Incessant chopping of vegetables

All three burners busy-

The next to whistle is the rice cooker

Washing machine whizzing away

Overshoots it the husband's snore.

Sweeping the floor

Hurried mopping and dusting

Waking the sleepy kids,

Including the man of the house

Remembering the geyser

Hasty rangoli at the door

Pushing and pulling dressers,

Paste on the brush

Off goes the washing machine-ding

Hanging the clothes

Hot coffee for the newspaper wielder

Bathing the kids- dripping with soap

Eau de cologne under the cot

Talc in the closet

Four sets of lunch boxes

Sitting on the table neatly packed

Hurried breakfast fed

Running all around the sofas

Bongs the school bus

Away the kids go bye-bye

Breakfast to the husband 

Search on for his left sock

Short peck on cheek

Off he goes to office...

Half bathed half clad

Breakfast lying half eaten

Plaiting hair in the doorstep

Locking the door

Forgetting the mobile

Starting the bike, off i go

Caught in the traffic

Breathing the smoke

The clock strikes ten

As I thunder in

Sneering jeering ogling

I move past with a smile

Files move in and out

Time flies, i note nothing

Lunch boxes open up

Yesterday's soaps discussed

Fashionistas cussed

I munch on with distaste

A short call from the husband

Lights up the face

"Honey...did you see the red file?"

"Its in your bike box"...click!

Again it is files and ogles

Gossips and smirks

Typing away like mad

My mind rests on the lone kids

Did they have the biscuits?

Have they locked the door safe?

Ten more files to be read

Two more mails to be sent

Ride back home is faster

Beats my heart harder

Kids at home with Dora

I lunge past the signals swifter

Opening the door 

All I find are clothes strewn

Plates lying everywhere

Water flowing out of the bathrooms

Cleaning, mopping, coffee

Homework, yelling

Mighty head ache, heartless dinner

Doing the dishes I am half-dead

Comes the husband back home

Too tired to talk hello

Wait, did I have my dinner?

Seldom do I remember

Cinderella and Rapunzel

Wait for their Princes 

As I read out bedtime stories

Kissing the kids good night

As I walk back to my room

My Prince is in deep slumber

When the flickering TV says "Happy Women's Day"

All I do is gently snore!

Dedicated to all the working women out there...

p.s.: The hand made card you see above was presented by my Little Angel Leina, aged 8. Angels are not in Heaven. They make life on earth, Heaven! Life is beautiful with a girl child :)

p.p.s.: Heart felt thanks to the men in my life- It is a pleasure to be surrounded by angelic men- the husband L, my Dad, my brothers, my son, my cousin brothers, my best friends who are all men ;) ( That includes you Prasanna & Gowtham) 

p.p.p.s.: The sun is scorching down South, it has got nothing to do with this post or my cerebellum ;)

Save the maids!

Doctors who locked up and starved their maid- Sanjay and Sunita Verma
Image Courtesy- TOI

Today's newspapers have reported the arrest of Doctor couple who locked up their maid in their flat for more than ten days. Locking up a thirteen year old with bread to last a few days and some water to drink is what a couple of educated(?) doctors could do. What are these people? Quacks? For someone who can't even bear to see birds in captivity, this news was shocking. For someone who has had tough luck with maids- i have a long history of run away maids, this news indeed was claustrophobic. Every household these days employ them, whether we like them or not. It is a whoosh whoosh sweep in two minutes, flip flap wash in another five, splash splash dish wash in another five and lo and behold the maid of out of the house before you have a coffee. Some maids work in even five or six households. 


In cities, it is really difficult to spot one of the tribe who is truthful. Good Lord would cross Himself hearing them speak 'truth' after 'truth'! And it would be real magic to see your provisions missing ounce by ounce;) But maids from rural areas who live with in the household is another sad story- some kind of bonded labor! People feel they have 'total control' when they have a maid at home. I have seen maids who sleep in the kitchen, who survive on paltry food and toil for meagre pay. Those advocates of women's empowerment and liberation- can they boast of not having the 'luxury' of a maid at home, sold by a poor family? 


In another case, a domestic help from Thanjavur has been denied leave for, can you believe, 20 years in Saudi Arabia? Mumthas Begam from Thanjavur has been working in a Saudi household for almost 20 years and was last heard from 14 years ago. She has not been paid for 19 years and she is held against her will at her employer's house. Activists of NGO "Pleace India" ( Pravasi Legal Aid Cell) are trying to rescue her. So far, our Government has been silent on the issue. Mumthas has lost all her near kith and kin in these 20 years- her father, mother and brother in the two decades. She is now 45! I am left with no words, but just to feel numb with pain and grief for the poor woman.


 I do sincerely wish the Indian Government takes some serious steps in bringing her back. Maids missing and killed in Saudi Arabia is a much hush hushed news, with Indonesian and Srilankan Governments having strong organisations to deal with such issues. Sadly, the Indian Government is yet to wake up and act. Should there not be a legal assistance from the Government to help such stuck maids abroad? An organisation, perhaps? Please see my earlier post on maids in Saudi Arabia here. Maids are indeed maids, indispensable these days. But they do have a right to live- a basic right to survive with dignity. Of course, i am writing to Arab press to free the poor woman, but who would take up the issue here in India? TOI had published the issue, but i can find no online link to it to link here. 


Let us live and let the maids too, live with dignity.