Open your mouth wider for M-A-N-S-I

You ask, what’s in a name afterall? I say “Everything”

So I clarify virtually for everyone.

It is  pronounced as ‘Maan-see’.

Yeah, you got it right, open your mouth really  wide and pronounce the ‘s’  just the way you would pronounce it in a ‘miss’ ,’piss’, . It’s not “Fizz” like a ‘zee’ sound, it’s the “c” sound

And no, it is not called  in any other modified or improvised  manner. When I explicate and spell it “M A N A S I “,  for you, don’t interpret it as  Nancy, Monsey or mansingh?

Regardless of  how many times people at various coffee outlets here,  understand assume and write  it that way, or sales people at various store and especially callers from doctors’ office  repeat it such -  My name is not  Mansingh or Nancy. It does not sound like any of those and I am certainly not changing it to those!

Just so that a few people find it tricky to pronounce it — and the majority get an innovative way to botch it — I am not altering my name – certainly not!

How would you prefer it if I pronounced your name as  Kaatey instead of Kate ? Or Jaani instead of Jenny?

How about that? Those are easy to pronounce names there, right?

So you see -  so is mine.

And my name has a meaning too – and a good one too there.

It means “everything you can desire” and in Sanskrit it means “a sound mind” while historically it means a lady.

I am sure  you did not know that?

To many folks,  it isn’t a big deal afterall? They’d rather just call out for David or DJ at a coffee shop — all they want is their cup of coffee, so who cares?

It isn’t really worth investing some odd 30 seconds making the individual across  the counter get every syllable correct.

But it matters to me. It’s my name- it’s my identity, remember?.

Although I know I’m squandering my time explaining the pronunciation to one person when the one at the other end will eventually mess up again.

“So a skimmed milk caramel café mocha  for uhumm….Man- what??!?”

How difficult is it to hear and pronounce it really?.

So, here’s your carry away message: my name is called and pronounced as — Maan-sea - (yes, you got to open your mouth wider) and I my brain is technically tuned to not respond to any other names like “Mansingh, Nancy, and Monsey” etc

Additionally, it is not open to modifications and I don’t want you to get creative with it.

By the way, incase you are wondering,   my last name is pronounced as : “Chitt-raan-shee!” .Err, forget it!

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On Inflated Egos and Excuses

Each dreadful exam score, blown cut-off date and botched venture offers a brand new prospect to try out fresh excuses. It was an explosion at home. An ailing dog.  An urgent situation at work. Not to forget the roadways: if only they hadn’t been so frosty.

This type of conversation is so common that majority of the people hurriedly dismiss it, even when it comes out of their own mouth.

This is the primary cause that valid excuse artisans — and there are zillions of them — don’t hang around until after choking to carry out their expertise. They shuffle themselves, in intense, prior to chasing an aspiration or delivering a performance. Their excuses come pre-glued: I didn’t get enough time. Luck didn’t favor me. I was given a fair chance at the interview. I had no clue what the college application actually required.

We all know them – extremely self-assured, bigheaded people with overblown opinions of themselves. They swagger and strut, ostensibly unreceptive to critical views, intimidations of failure or the glare of self-consciousness.

These are the people with a big fat ego, which is fed only by their illusions – about themselves. The "ego" is an invented mental state, a delusion. Your ego is something that consents you to think that you are superior than who you really are; it’s a disguise, a band aid cure for a lack of self-confidence. This is the self-doubting feeling will always cause roadblocks for you.

Let's be frank. If you go and approach and you face refusal, there is a rationale behind this. You most probably are deficient in the expertise and experience and your insecurities conquest and clutter you up.

To have self-confidence is to have neither too soaring nor too squat an opinion of oneself. It is to value one's veracity, to be competent of humiliation if one fails to stand up to one's own outlook of what one should do and how one should be.  Self-esteem is the basis of value for others. One of the most adverse consequences of an inflated ego and prejudice is that it leads to lowering the sense of worth.

In the end, it’s always about the choices we make. Discern and value your strong choices. You can opt right away - to think about a stimulating idea. The aptitude to choose is what differentiates us from animals. Nobody else can do this for us—no psychotherapist, counselor or medication. So bestow yourself with some soul food today instead of feeding the inflated ego.

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I AM

We all have an Ugly Betty living inside us. A flawed woman, an imperfect woman fanatical to make herself more ideal for someone else, to be what somebody else expects them to be, somebody who is at times swamped by the traits/features she doesn’t own  but longs to live a more satisfied life and feel more comprehensive. As frequently as a woman we live our life indefatigably fighting what is expected of us and what we envisage of ourselves. But more frequently, I have learnt how to value the imperfections, the flaws that make me the woman I am today. There is something organic, unadulterated and inspiring about accepting the flaws that make you who you really are. But it’s even more triumphant to stop trying to be perfect; to stop evaluating yourself with the yardstick of another woman’s splendor, body, accomplishment, recognition, prosperity, success or peace.  Being a flawed woman is living a complete contended life.  It is so much like plunging your fingers deep into the jug of life and licking each emotion off, one finger at a time. It’s accommodating the tang of bitterness, enjoying the flavor of serenity, resisting the flavor of spite, teasing yourself with the whiffs of victory, savoring the cracks of unselfishness, swallowing the seeds of trepidations, biting down the crumbs of prejudice. I am an imperfect- a flawed woman and I don’t constantly manage myself with equanimity and composure. I go awry, I fail, I get angry, I feel scared, I cry, I snigger and I brawl and I am happy accepting that. Given that, it’s all these flaws, imperfections and blemishes boxed up together that make me, the unique me.

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Where are those Days?

Wondering...

Where are those days
when we could
put an upturned
container on our heads
and act as if to
we were a fireman
or a dreamer
or robot?

Where are those days
when we could
giggle absurdly
and roll on the ground
accredited to a
fart or burp
or other bodily sounds which seemed so funny.

Where are those days
when droplets
enthralled us and
the famous “Chanda mama” excited us
no end; when a
fountain was all
we required to
make our world complete.

Where are those days
when everything was
new-fangled and held a hope
when we didn’t know
what tomorrow will bring
but we knew it
would be as happy
as today?

Where are those days
when we candidly
hugged
and kissed
those who made us
feel loved and unique.

Where are those days when
the loss of a favorite pencil
was life’s leading catastrophe
of our lives
and the acquirement
of a new one
our biggest victory.

Where are those days when
we could chuckle
and weep wantonly
when we could
love with
paramount fervor
when we could
pick ourselves up
dust ourselves off
and continue
with the same
zeal.

Where are those days when
we didn’t know
the significance
of intolerance
goal
aspiration
principle
remorse
hate
sorrow
envy
or adversity?

Where are those days
when our life
was uncomplicated
our requirements fundamental
our wishes
confined to a chocolate
and one more ride
on a giant wheel.

Where are those days
when we were
actually, really, truly
contented.
When we lived
the meaning of
contentment
and didn’t just
read superficial quotes about them
on internet, to post them on Facebook.

PS – This post is a consequence of a nostalgic frame of mind, while going through some of my random lines that I wrote in a diary – The days, when we actually knew how to write with a pen.

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Metamorphosis

The ocean tumults to a powerful peak,

Glaciers render down into the sea,
All to egotism without a shadow.
All beneath the time's trial.

Clay won’t be cordial eternally,
Only until it turns stiff.
Sponge won’t soak up forever,
it drips them out afterward.

There is a bound restraining everything,
further than which it alters to nothing.
You don't stay the same,
forever.

I ain’t what I was.
I won’t be what I am.
I am under the unvarying
spell of transformation.

Forever is Never...

Here’s to a new beginnings in the year 2012

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The Desi - Phorren Wannabes

Of late I have been coming across many Indians in US, who after living here for a few years have conveniently started considering themselves as Americans – or in Desi Indian terminology - “Amreekans”. So they were rewarded the opportunity to travel and work abroad based on their merits and skills – achievement ? Agreed. So they have settled in the comfort of the amenities provided by the most powerful country? Acceptable. Being ashamed of your own traditions and culture in the quest to be a Roman in Rome? Deplorable. It’s these self loathing phorren returned people that annoy me most and that’s what made me write this post.

I know many people who feel that accruing an NRI status is a symbol of great smugness and pride– well, after being denoted as an NRI myself, after staying is US, for about 3 years, I feel this is practically like being an Indian far away from your home - just an extravagant and pompous term.

Long long ago – there were only a chosen few who went abroad ( phorren) and were termed as NRIs - Older generations of NRIs were the devoted kinds. The kinds who dreamt of broad blue Indian skies (and the periodic complementary bird shit), of green fields and hot spice samosa and Indian Food Thaalis (plate). They longed for the classic Indian feel and not just to clog their albums with ‘Pics of an Indian Trip to Exotic places”.

Well, that was some decades ago, when Rajnikanth hadn’t started using wigs yet, when he was still the Hero of each of his film…Oh well, wait? Isn’t he still doing that infact? Let me rephrase - when Rajnikanth hadn’t turned to wigs yet.

The past generations of NRIs toiled hard to ensure that Indian-ness thrived in their homes, no matter how far they were from their motherland.

Coming to the existing circumstances – Several NRI parents are on a systematic invasion to abolish any last indication of Indian-ness or Bhartiyata as we call it, in them and their successors down to the last melanin cell if that was really probable. ‘Passing on your tradition’ is a thing of the ancient times and something to be wobbled upon.

Just makes me wonder deeply upon this quandary and hence I collected three perceptive which pretty much recapitulate the condition.

(Disclaimer : I have randomly named the type of people I am referring to as Mr. and Mrs Patel. This post does not bear any resemblance or personal reference to any person/community living or dead)

‘A Woman, who is embarrassed of her tradition, has nothing in herself that she could take pride in.

The woman that we’re talking of here is an NRI-through-marital vow Mrs. Patel. She adorns her mangalsutra on a thick gold chain and still bows down to touch her in-laws’ feet, in respect, back home. She is often caught shopping at the local Indian grocery shop purchasing ‘sabzi’. Her teen son also tags alongwith her, wearing that everlastingly jaded look that teenagers manage to master. She is murmuring to herself contemplating which ‘aloos’ to select , directing her son she will cook ‘Pott-taye-toez’ (adds nasal twang so as to sound like a complete American) for dinner. However Mrs. Patel gives a frigid-nosed gawk to the deprived bachelor who risks asking her ‘Are you Indian Ma’am?’ and if she could direct him on which masala to choose? Everest or Ashoka’s? She quickly walks away looking as perturbed as if he had kicked off a conversation on the advantages of black vs. white lingerie.

‘Children who do not know their mother tongue, are better off without their mother’.

The family we’re referring to here is Mr. and Mrs. Patel and Patel Junior at an Indian gathering. Somebody from the guests randomly questions something in Hindi to the son, extracting a void look. I wonder how does not knowing how to converse in your own mother tongue become an accomplishment. Such bare looks on the son’s face are backed up by a loving mess up of his grass like glued to the gel hair and acceptable nods from Mommy Patel. Typically the on the exterior proud Mommy Patel will snigger gently and assert, “Aah! All his friends at school are Americans you see?!”. What I am wondering here is – what about his parents?

No one expects you to memorize and narrate the Sanskrit shlokas, but being aware of the customary small talks is the least Mr and Mrs. P could educate their child.

‘People who speak via their nose, must have a truly unattractive mouth’.

When you begin swapping your kesari bhath in the breakfast with cereals and oatmeal then that’s termed as being prudent and cuts down on your cholesterol. But when you begin conversing suddenly through your nose, then that can be either severe influence of Himesh Reshammiya’s nasal twang or you are transforming into just another aspirant with an infuriating accent.

Accommodating and accepting other cultures is a fantastic symbol of camaraderie and brotherhood but spurning your own roots and seeking to be what you are not is a brilliant symbol of foolishness. You decide.

The fact is - If you’re a wannabe today, you will remain a wannabe for many many moons to come.

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India Shining? I don’t think so

A regular casual dinner with a few friends transforms into a horrendous night for Keenan Santoas and Rueben Fernandez on the night of 20th of October, 2011

I have not been following this case as closely until just recently - It makes me wonder if all these Facebook movements, candle light vigils and the “battle against the system” are just nonsense? A pretense by which we convince ourselves that we’re part of a drive – a revolution or a movement which just gives a big high to our bigger egos. Well, does that not make the “voice of India” self-centered? Have we never considered fighting the hoodlums in our own society before fighting corruption and terrorism?

The flaw does not however, alone lie with the sad state of affairs in India – where women’s security is concerned. Most of the times, I have fought my own combats with a troublesome feeling that some man would come and get back at me for standing up for myself. Many times, I have been displeased with male friends who overlooked a danger, opting to look away instead. So when people nod dejectedly and comment that looking away was a better alternative, I get a sinking feeling.

When will, we as people, learn and understand that looking away is not the way out? It is that we have misplaced our opinions, our self-esteem and indeed our principles by constantly looking away every time we are confronted with an attack on our personal and combined self-esteem.

I have stayed in a city called Lucknow for most of my life and have myself faced embarrassment, humiliation and disrespect at every nook and corner of that city. It is because most of the cities in India we are full of these killers and we face them everyday. They walk amongst us, talk filthy to us, feel us up, brush against us, touch us and grope us .Every time these issues are reported, we are asked to shut our gobs for threat of speedy and throbbing vengeance.

Thus by doing so, we have misplaced our united voice. We thus choose to bow down our heads and we lock our eyes and ears and we choose to witness such incidents, comment on it, like Facebook page for it and then move on. Oblivious to other people, ignorant to all the prejudice around us – we move on with our lives – It didn’t happen to me after all? Just because two brave men declined to do the same, because they rejected to listen to the cynics, they are dead. What a ghastly way to go .I wonder what would have combating for a society- that perhaps wouldn’t have done the same for them- would have earned them – instant death and injustice as the case shall go on forever and justice will be delayed for half a century?

It’s a fad these days to take a day off work and scream slogans against corruption since your life is not under threat by doing that. But why did not even a single person, out of a crowd of hundreds perhaps, come forward to help Keenan and Reuben? The two men may have been alive if someone in the “viewers” had at least called an ambulance.

To the bystanders or the audience who chose to enjoy the view - don’t worry people; your daughters, mothers, wives and sisters are all secure. You all can come out of your cabinets. You can have movements and candle-light vigils when you feel wronged by rickshaw-walla’s meddle meter. Infact why even come out of your homes? Stay in your protected havens and happily press the ‘Like’ button of the ‘Anti-rickshaw drivers protest’ crusade on FaceBook. Why should you be concerned about some Santos or a Fernandes being killed by some goons in Marol after all?

To Keenan and Reuben- Thank you for choosing not to look away. You both are my Heroes.

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It's Alright.

For a dear friend..

It's all right to be gloomy, as much as it is all right to be contented. It's all right to weep and shed tears, just as much as it is all right to chuckle. It is all right to be humiliated as much as it is all right to be pompous. For shadows cannot subsist devoid of the light. It is all right to wish to die as much as it is all right to wish to live. But let these moments go by, as gradually as they will, for they are solitary moments, important or unimportant, so you may smile and pardon, live and love. Don't make these moments an alternative or a choice in life, or a cross to tolerate for the rest of your life. Let them slip away of your realization as they will, and let all that is wonderful, joyous and uplifting, and around you - rule over your life, yet again.

This post has been written addressing a very dear and close friend who is going through a troubled phase in her life. Just wish to tell her that along these peaks and valleys of life, I am here for you. For ahead of the shadows, there is light. Ahead of the sadness, there is serenity. Wishing you everything you require going through this complex phase. I want you to know concealed within every obstruction is a fortune to behold. Your heart is more prudent than you know. Keep the Faith.

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Boomerang

It upsets
it throbs
it drains you out
and leaves you
worn out.

All that time
and vigor
the toil
the aspirations…
all for zilch.

It distresses you
further than the point
of desolation
it slays a tad of you
within.

It troubles you
derides you
It makes you
inquire numerous
unanswerable questions
It examines your
conviction.

You descend to a
deep low
a profundity you
weren’t aware of before
a gloom
so black
that you feel
numb in its
unsighted calm.

But you’re a warrior
a survivor
an obstinate child of a gun
you brood awhile
but then
you clean yourself off
and haul yourself up
back into the
sunshine.

You smell the
freshness of spring
and savor the
droplets of mist

Yet again.
You smirk back
at the flowers
and seize yourself
singing with the
birds flickering by.

You have a new prospect
it is a new day
and life
has after all

Just begun.

Life bounces back

Just like a Boomerang

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The Real Beauty

So does beauty really lie in the eyes of the beholder?

Intriguing question; and what a-silage-for-debate types.

A few years back, I would perhaps have hoped to protect the school of artistic and aesthetics when questioned what beauty really implies. I would have sung the similar melodies that ads and trendy culture, hammer ceaselessly into our heads. And while I don’t precisely propose you get plump now, I will not evaluate you, just because you don’t appear like a merchandise of the glamour industry.

Age, weight and graying hair put a lot of things into outlook. When your body begins acting in manners ahead of your management (and I’m not actually being Madonna here to want to fanatically control it), you start to learn to discover and value beauty outside of it.

In the course of a marriage, childbirth and a few months of parenting, I have gone from makeup-exercise -diet-garments-nail paints and hairdo fanatical woman to a complete family leaning woman. Looks don’t matter (much).

Scruffy hair and clothes on many instances √check

Complimentary stretch marks √check

Undone eyebrows √check

And how could I not mention my closest friends?

The dark circles √check

I appear just like your or anybody’s Mommy, don’t I?

However, have you ever observed how, for the lengthiest period in your life, your own mother is the most gorgeous woman in the whole wide world? She is perhaps substituted by the woman/man you love, and then, maybe, by the children you have. But in the end, the most beautiful being of your life is almost forever the one you love the most and best.

Now, run through your mind try to recall who was won the Miss Universe in the year 2008 (without Google of course). Too old news to recall? Okay, what about Miss India in 2008? How about the vital stats Angelina Jolie? No? Me neither. For all their glamour, film actresses and beauty queens linger in our reminiscences for as long as the circus lasts. The most gorgeous and beautiful people in our lives, our modest small worlds, conversely, are not who the contests and glossies proclaim.

The invariable of all types of beauty is actually, love.

Like a baby to a mother, a beloved to her lover, a disciple to its goddess, a cause to its protester, a muse to an artist, a pet to its master the exemplars are continual. When you truthfully love somebody, their flawed and imperfect bodies, minds and thoughts turn out to be irrelevant. There is no evading the proverb that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.

For the reason that it is in a pair of affectionate eyes that real beauty originates and flourishes.

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Trust

Trust is putting your child on a bus on his first day to school.

Trust is exploring an unknown recipe for a dinner party.

Trust is hiking that high point and diving in.

Trust is watching your son struggle through a walker for the first time.

Trust is clutching faith’s hand.

Trust is contemplating if your rendezvous with a blind date will turn out well.

Trust is telling your sick child that all will be okay and really mean it.

Trust is believing that a friend will never let you down.

Trust is having faith in a Supreme Power.

Trust is leaving your kid in a childcare for the first time.

Trust is having faith in yourself in spite of making yet another blunder.

Trust is smiling at your child even though he may try your tolerance.

Trust is seeing your baby take his foremost step on his own.

Trust is seeking yet another motive to believe.

Trust is keeping the faith when no one else will.

What does Trust mean to you?

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Big Banyan Tree

I want to be a big Banyan tree

Standing lofty

And benevolently

In the my prime of life

Unfazed by flames

And rivalry

Traversing high on

My triumph –

A consequence of

Hard slog

And stamina.

—-

I want to be a big Banyan tree

Exclusive

Shining among the crowd

Robust, enduring

Rising bigger

With each

Transitory day

Striving for

New-fangled pinnacles

Expanding my

Perspectives.

—

I want to be a big Banyan tree

Eternal

Enchanting

Reliable

Fostering

Sovereign

Yet fraction of

A society.

—-

I want to be a big Banyan tree

With tales to

Exchange

And stories to

Narrate

Of new openings

And old companions.

—-

When I grow older

I wish to be

Just like

A big Banyan tree.

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