Where is home?

It's one of these days, when there's a woman inside my head, screaming and demanding answers. Looking for a meaning. Looking for a straw of logic to hold on to. Trying to reconcile "loving India" with "making sense of India". Struggling to remember the person I once was, before moving stock and barrel thousands of kilometers from everything I knew and everyone who knew me upside down. And almost burning all bridges behind me.

There are sometimes days, when I realise that I have gone through months of total haze and robot-like motions. Then I look around and it hits me: I live here now... Yes, after 8 years I still have "moments of truth". I don't know if people around me realise it: the monumental nature of this move. Although I did it totally in love, not caring of any consequences. With a heart wide open. Till recently, I did not realise it myself. I wonder if then I had this knowledge, I would have still made the move. I look at my husband, and I know - I would have done it in a heart beat.

But nevertheless, here I am today, ridden with questions and so few answers. The most important one being - who am I? Trying to put together the pieces I have left behind, and the new traits of Me in India. Struggling to remember the idealistic beliefs in humanity I had, many of which I have had to put to rest here. The dreams and visions of myself which will probably never come true. The belief that love conquers all, no matter what circumstances life throws at you. The conviction that people change, and tradition, religion and pre-conceptions of how life should be, stop to matter when you are consumed with so much passion...

With the adrenalin rush going down, it all starts to sink in. This is not an adventure, it's life. This is not a wild ride, it is a marriage, which I have accepted to live in a totally foreign, sometimes incomprehensible culture. And this is not a country on my list of 1000 Places To Visit Before I Die, this is home... This is the time when the hundreds of small rivers of life come togeher, and one big stream starts flowing full strenght to the unknown.

This is the time for some important decisions and reconciliations.

- I may never be able to raise my children the way I was raised, the way my parents are raised
- they will have very different memories from mine
- they will live customs and everyday things completely foreign to me
- I may have a son with long hair - who may be a complete misfit in Bulgaria
- I will speak with my children a language their father does not understand, and they will speak to their paternal grandparents a language I do not understand
- I may have to accept that most of my Bulgarian relatives will go through the most important moments of their lives without me around
- and I will go through some of the most important moments of my life without them around
- I may have to burry a very large part of my rebelious self and start being "more accepting"
- there are certain things about myself that my husband will never understand
- there are things I loathe about India that will NEVER change - I am the one who will become harder
- I will NEVER wear a floating white dress and will never be kissed in public
- I may have to accept cremation as a last rite, although I fear fire more than anything else
- I may have to accept that one day, after everyone around me is gone and my kids are away studying in whetever country they choose, I will be here alone

I miss home today SO MUCH! But I am afraid that if I say it to my mother, she will say "I told you so" and if I say it to my husband, he will feel guilty for no fault of his.

As promised, Mauritius photos

MAURITIUS: Sugar & spice & all things nice

How can you not fall in love with a country which...

- names its cities Moka, Tamarind, Flick en Flack (after the noise chappals make when walking in the rain), Rose Hill, Cure Pipe, Bambous, Belle Rose, Triolet, Vingt Cinq (!!)
- has inhabitants of all coulours, sizes and shapes, who all proudly say "I am a Mauritian"
- produces cane sugar, coffee, tea, white rum and vanilla
- has honest taxi drivers
- starts the working day at 8 and no matter what goes home to their family by 5.30 pm
- has zero per cent unemployment rate
- has a dodo bird as a national symbol
- is like a really clean India
- has gorgeous climate, gorgeous seas and volcanic mountains

Photos to follow...

A faithful moment

I had an interesting experience recently. I decided to do up our bedroom while Gurtaj was away on a business trip, as a surprise. So I hired a contractor to coordinate the 5-day effort. In India, workers and contractors are normally bad news. They never deliver on time, they ask for huge advances, and they trick you into also doing this and that around the house, so as to get more money.

However, Akram bhai was the most pleasant surprise! This thin, bearded gentleman with a steely face appeared on my doorstep to inspect the room shortly after I had called him. He scanned the walls and ceiling with expert eyes, and before he could say anything, I told him, in my most earnest broken Hindi, that this was all a surprise for my husband. He looked at me, quiet and confused how to react, and I knew I had won. He said he would call me in half an hour to confirm. "Yea, yea," I thought, "Let's hope he will call me tomorrow". But in half an hour shap my mobile rang and Akram bhai formally committed to start work at 9 am the next day.

The workers turned up on time, worked efficiently and orderly. Akram bhai used to come every morning to discuss the tasks of the day, and every evening to check out the result. I was truly amazed by the porfessionalism. By listening to their conversations, I soon found out that he was simultaneously supervising projects at 5-6 other houses, some as far as Thane. Work never ceased even on Sundays.

This made me look at him and his workers with deep empathy and respect for their hard work. So I would make sure that every day they got unlimited tea and sandwiches. And I made sure I greeted them with a smile and small talk every time they came. Soon enough, I was calling the eldest painter "mama" (uncle) which thouroughly amused them all.

One day, I don't really remember how, I started with Akram bhai one of these endless doorstep conversations, just as he was leaving for another site. Our conversation drifted off in the porcelaine-like fragile area of religion. By now, those of you who know India well, would have realised from his name that he was a Muslim. And here, like everywhere in the world, there is a lot of prejudice and preconception. To me, passing thorugh predominantly Muslim areas, means casting my eyes down, and making sure not too much skin is showing, and also averting my eyes from the slaughter houses along the road. I remember Muslim boys on JJ Flyover breaking cat's eyes. And huge Muslim gatherings on the ground next to Bombay Gym Khana, with propaganda blasting from huge speakers, and crowds of men clad in white gawking at us taking our evening walk in our privileged cocoon.

Two of the most charismatic Muslims I had met were the deadly funny fimls head of my ex-employer, ad agency Leo Burnett, Firoz, who used to make us roll on the floor with laughter, and treated us (200 of us!) to biryani et the end of each Ramzan; and Mumtaz, a Singapore-based Indian woman of 43, GM of Club Med for Asia Pacific, a deeply religious and spiritual woman living in a joint family, who could dance the night away and put us all to shame with her energy to party.

But I am deviating here...

Akram bhai asked me, "you have traveled around the world, which do you think is the best community?" I said something which is quite a cliche, but in which I firmly believed till this conversation. I answered that while in writing religions may seem different, at the base they are all represent the same values - love and the victory of good over evil. And that unfortunately a handful of people use religion to pervert it to suit their own interests.

I though that the conversation was over, but the simple Akram bhai surprised me with some deep thoughts. First, he said he disagreed that all religions were the same. And he explained how, according to him, Allah was in the beginning of all other religions. He also surprised me with an explanation of why Allah was different from Jesus (something about the status of a fallen angel and Jesus being born by humans). He also recommended the works of a particular Muslim scholar who could make me understand Islam better.

He predicted, that in about 30 years, there will be harmony between religions, but that in the meanwhile there will be many wars. Which made my skin crawl. I did not dare to ask him if he thought that these wars were justified, and in vain I scanned his face to see if he supported them. But all I could see was acceptance of something he saw as inevitable, for whatever reason.

He also showed me on his mobile phone a call for a Muslim peace conference and invited me. "We will take care of you there," he said (I did not go as I am highly uncomfortable in big crowds). And promised to get the Quran for me.

And well enough, after the work was over and the house got empty, I looked at the dining table and saw a neat parcel containing two volumes of the Quran, along with a dictionary of terms... Left there without any fuss.

I have kept it carefully on my book shelf, wondering if it is a sin to read it even before I have read the holy book of my own religion - the Bible. I guess this will prompt me to read both (watch this space). But what I appreciate most about this conversation, was the fact that once again it helped me see a face amongst the crowd, and hear a voice that made me think. And despite what Akram bhai said, I am still convinced that in our core, we are all the same, and we want the same things out of life.

I am wondering how would he react if I gift him a Bible for Christmas :-)

Remains if the day

My spirituality and outlook to life has been challenged way too frequently lately and I wonder why. Because, you see, I believe that everything happens for a reason. And the last two weeks have been like a roller coaster of emotions.

Three people are dead, in just the space of these two weeks...

First, the son of one of our closest friends, almost family. He was coughing, so he went to the chemist with his parents to get cough syrup. He dropped right there... A massive heart failure.

A week later, I found out that a person who has been a constant presence in my life in Bombay, Janet Fine, has succumbed to cancer. She had sworn the few who knew into secrecy. I will remember her as one of the liveliest and most energetic people I have ever known. But most of all, as someone extremely enterprising and full of ideas. Another very rare thing about Janet was that she was so very unselfish about her contacts! If she thought someone could be useful or interesting for someone else, she would do anything to facilitate these two people meeting and being in touch. There were times she has called me out of the blue just to say that something she knows I would love is happening across town, and promptly offering to give me a lift. She also made sure I became a member of American Women of Bombay, which gave a brand new dimension of my life here. I will always be grateful for that, and will always fondly remember her CoHO Saturdays - some of the best spent in my life! I went to her apartment the next morning after I found out, to check on Janet's beloved cats. Looking at her apartment and not having her around was a hard, throat choking experience. The cats looked happy. Which reassured me. I believe animals have a sixth sense. So if they were happy, janet must have been in a better place.

But what really hit me was the way life was just going on...

The same evening, the son of my husband's company's VP, just 17 years old, died in the most tragic accident.

We were both stunned... What was happening around us? Why? What was life trying to tell us? Why so many coincidences.

We went to the hospital where the body was kept, just to see if we can help. The father was crushed. I don't think you EVER recover from anything like this.

The hospital looked terrible. I did not even want to go inside. Everything looked dilapidated and old. There was a stray dog coming in and out as if it was his home. Hospital staff was pacing up and down in dirty uniforms. Some of them were just standing around in lungis. a really old, shabby woman walked into the morgue... A wounded man was brought in by a rickshaw, and unqualified drivers and cops just helped him shuffle into his wheelchair. A prisoner was taken back to jail after treatment. Despite the tubes sticking out of him, he was just put down to lie on the bench of the police van, far from being long enough to let him rest comfortably. And I suddenly realised. That there are high chances I may die in this country, in a hospital like that, surrounded by completely foreign people. I will not even be understanding the language they are talking. I was terrified. And I just wanted to go home, to things I am familiar and comfortable with.

An even scarier thought occured to me. The few christian cemeteries I have seen here were in a complete state of desolation, with garbage dumps right next to them. The thought of cremation terrifies me. I have always been uncomfortable around fire.

The next day, life continued, I drove past movie halls showing mvies these three people will never see; heard songs they will never hear again... Life was going on... Is life really just waiting for death?

India from the sideview car window

I'm in a relationship on four wheels. Literally. We drive... A lot. For Gurtaj, it's like a drug. As for me... Sometimes I love it, sometimes I loathe it. It allows me to see the best and the worst of India. From the arid, stunning landscape of Rajasthan, to the lush greenery of Madhya Pradesh's natural parks. Picturesque villages, herds of sheep and goats, colourful people, tucked away forts... Rivers and lakes. I wish I had a camera in my head, to do "click" every time I saw something that touched my heart. And then, the other side: runover dogs splattered all over the road, 4-hour long traffic jams of ugly, pollution-spewing trucks with despondent drivers, dirty little desolate towns with piles of garbage along the road. Sometimes, I don't want to see all this. I want to live in a dream... But sooner or later, we are on the road agan, and the movie begins...

We have driven from Bombay to Chandigarh and back (through Rajasthan) innumerable times, in a yellow convertible Merc (this must be the most driven sports car in India); our honeymoon was a road trip; we have done Bombay-Goa in a single night, in an open Gipsy (me the only girl amongst 5 rowdy guys); I have lost count of the impromptu day drives to Lonavala and Pune; we have been to Indore & Mandu (on a moon surface road) in a Ford; we were driven (with Gurtaj looking completely out of place in the passenger's seat) from Chandigarh to Leh, all over Ladakh; for my last birthday, we drove through Madhya Pradesh in a huge silver Mitsubishi Montero.

When we drive, it is just the two of us, in a bubble, in our own world. We are the only ones in control. I know he is watching the road. I know the way he sees it, the way he reacts. I know how other drivers think. I can predict theirs and his next actions. We know how to take care of each other on long drives. He knows when I get sick, he puts his hand over my eyes when there is an accident or a dead animal ahead. I know when he is tired, when to change the Cd and when to hand him the water bottle. It's perfect team work. I've had some of the best times of our marriage on long drives.

It tires me... A lot... And yet once it's a reality, there are moments of amazing thrill. Like driving up through a bustling tiny lane to Deogarh palace (if I take my hand out, I can literally do window shopping from the car). Or discovering a virgin, lush green road in MP (are these rocks on the road a sign of dacoits???).

BOTTOM LINE: We recently bought an SUV. It is the BEST car for India. I don't feel claustrophobic in traffic jams - I am actually at the same level as those traveling on buses (they can't peek into my cleavage from high above anymore!). We can go off road and avoid huge traffic jams. We can go through all the holes in the road. I am not scared of flash flooding anymore. It's like riding on top of my own big grey elephant!

The case of Bombay vs Delhi

It happens every time I go to Delhi... This feeling of "what on Earth am I doing in Bombay?!". Delhi has wide, even, clean roads. Big, beautifully landscaped gardens and parks. Less slums. New, environmentally friendly, clean cabs in a very good condition. Same for the rickshaws - and they are painted in cool green and yellow colours!! The houses are huge and it seems there is an unofficial competition of who's garden will be the most beautiful of them all. People are stylish like hell. And since there is something like a winter here (temperatures drop significantly from November to March), they actually have a "winter wardrobe" with boots, stockings, beautiful shawls, jackets, polo necks... It's only in Delhi that I feel like layering and throwing on an elegant pashmina over my shoulders when I go out. The Delhi Golf Club has winter outdoors dining, with the creme de la creme of the city picking up delicacies from al fresco cooking stations, chatting over their Gucci shades, surrounded by blooming chrysantemum.

There is so much greenery in the city, that the bird population is huge, colourful, cute and interesting, unlike the Bombay nagging, ugly crows. Here, you can actually see flocks of green parrots, a peacock here and there, and even deer at the Golf Club (we were sitting at the pub one night and a deer crossed the green in the moonlight - in the middle of a bustling city - surreal!!)

If you feel like cooking here, all the exotic ingredients are easily available - even filo pastry sheets and vine leaves for my favourite dolmades!!! I also love the shopping areas and markets, with all possible goods and brands stuffed together at a walking distance.

When I see all this, I think I can live with the North Indian aggressive attitude, with all the staring and eve-teasing males, without partying on my own till 4 am. I just need one of these beautiful houses with gardens, one of these big kitchens, and a car & a driver to be happy (that itself amounts in total to more than a million dollars but what the heck :-)

P.S. But you see, Bombay loves to hate Delhi. And it's true - Bombay is on the go, it means business, it's kinder to its women, lives and lets you live, its cool quotient is up there and its vibe is uncomparable, it has the vast expanse of the sea... Well, it's also polluted like hell, every hour is peak traffic hour, it's filthy, slum infested, cramped, hot all year round. So the question remains - is it just an illusion that I am happy here?

Chandigarh Whispers 2

Chandigarh Whispers

I am lying on the bed in an airy, cool, green room, in scented rose-patterned sheets.

I am looking at the pink and white blossoms of bougenvillas swaying in the November breeze.

A bird is peeking at me from outside the window, then another, and it shows off its tail to me, unfolding it like a white fan.

Two dogs are sleeping under my bed, and I can hear them shuffling in their sleep.

I have a wonderful book to read.

I am served lunch in the blue sunny room - crunchy okra, amber-coloured lentils, puffy chappatis, and plump red tomatoes with sweet red onions. Delicious simplicity! Followed by a moist cake with black coffee. The dogs are begging.

I am alone in the house. Nobody is asking for my attention. I can do whatever I want, on my own pace.

I can see the sun outside, but inside the air is crisp - this house is built the old way, to keep the cool (and the warm when necessary) in.

I am actually... at complete and blissful peace....

Twisted feminist

Sometimes we have really conflicting views on what an empowered woman is. We spend hours mulling over how things should be, how we should behave, how we should put our foot down. But what if the really empowered women are those who...

- come from backward families, and yet manage to get educated and find jobs

- get up at at 5 am, prepare breakfast and lunch, get the kids to the school bus, then dress up, put immaculate makeup, then board a train stuffed with sweaty bodies and bad moods, and arrive at work with not a single crease in their sari

- work quietly on their desks while the men have countless tea breaks

- fearlessly ride scooters in crazy traffic

- leave cushy jobs to start their own businesses with very little or no money

- are able to dish out a 5-star meal after a 10-hours working day

- are not scared, while at the village well, to share with other women the problems they face at home, without being worried that "the perfect picture" will get spoilt

- are able to revolt and close down all liquor shops in their city, in order to stop men from spending all their savings on booze (http://in.news.yahoo.com/070621/139/6h855.html)

- can't read but learn to save and become independent (http://www.workingwomensforum.org/)

Food for thought...

Stayin' Alive

This is how thousands of Indians commute daily. In the bus picture, what I missed was the conductor climbing up to the rooftop from the outside, collecting fare from those sitting on the rooftop, and then getting back in via the outside ladder...

A talent to watch out for!

I don't know if it is because I consciously kept away this year, but I really didn't feel the buzz of fashion week! It just came and went without any major brouhaha. I dropped by the other day to see two completely new designers - I loved Anuj Sharma's origami dresses! The next show was one hour late, so I bunked it and instead walked around the showcase area, where each designer had a boutique-like space.

I chanced upon the booth of a young designer duo, Rahul & Firdos (Rahul Mishra and Samar Firdos). These two are still studying at the National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad, but have already gone places, and will travel even higher, I am sure. From the moment I walked into their booth, Rahul drew my attention to their designs and started talking about their work with refreshing passion and enthusiasm. It was so incredible to hear someone so new and talented speak without a trace of arrogance about introducing new techniques, working with local craftsmen, and creating magic on a very small budget, yet having the guts to forego sales until they get their due profit.

Also at the booth were a bunch of young girls helping out, from both the boy's families, and a gentleman who, as far as I understood, helps them with chikankari work. It was heartwarming to see the support and team effort. But most of all, it was a welcome change from the "I'm too important for you" attitude of fashion week. I hope these boys never lose their humble approach! Definitely a talent to watch out for!!!

I could have bought and worn every single design on display. Not only were the clothes very wearable and yet spelt killer chic (off-white, Indo-Western cuts with beautiful subtle chikankari work on semi see-through fabric, very light, excellently structured to flatter a woman's body at the right places), but their USP was truly amazing - almost no seams!!! Rahul showed me pieces where there was absolutely no stitching on the shoulders, underarms and on the front. It supposedly not only saves tons of fabric, but it helps envelop the body like a glove!

The duo also refuses to use China-imported silks for their other creations.

Photos courtesy nowrunning.com

Rahul & Firdos stuff is available at AZA, at Kemps Corner in Bombay. Definitely worth a look!!! AND your money!

Cooking Indian is not for sissies... like me

Last night I tried to cook mutton rogan josh for Gurtaj's birthday and it turned out a complete disaster. The kitchen was smouldering hot (how the heck does my cook do this on a daily basis??); it took me half an hour to just lay out the ingredients (separately for the "meat", "paste", "vegetables"), measure and grind them; I found out half the stuff was missing, so I had to run to the neighbours to borrow it. And finally, I ignored the instruction of cooking the meat for two hours (!) and of course it turned out completely undercooked! We finished by eating out and getting into a fight. LESSON LEARNT: On the next special occasion I would rather gift my husband with a pleasant wife, rather than a 5-star meal. AND I will stick to things I know rather than experimenting!

Join the club!

There's a club in Bombay called Breach Candy. Right next to the hospital of the same name, it is THE place to be a member if you are a European passport holder in Bombay. Until a few years ago, membership was opened only to Europeans and it was dirt-cheap. But I refused to become a member because the whole concept seemed really racist to me. When I finally woke up and smelt the humungous salt water infinity pool, the first class gym and the crepes counter, membership fees had increased ten fold and the waiting period is a year or more. Anyway, my papers are still waiting for approval, and I had blissfully forgotten about it till last Sunday, when I went there for lunch with Steph, Karine, Jill and Sheerine. Apart from the obvious 'kicking myself' feeling, I realised something funny and surprising. Once again I felt how I juggle my life between two realities. First of all, it seemed that half of Paris has migrated to Breach Candy Club for a day. At the pool, dads in shorts were feeding babies, moms in itsy bitsy bikinis were sunbathing (one of them without qualms displaying a huge scar across her stomach, another couldn't care less that her legs were not waxed) or chatting with their best gay friends. Skins were all possible shades of white and pink. I was surprised to realise that I was in total sensorial shock! Had I become more Indian than I ever thought??? This public display of self freedom and comfort with one's own body suddenly felt so alien, like something from another era. In some corner of my mind something clicked - 'yes, you lived in Paris in the past and yes, that was your everyday!' and 'yes, now you live in a place where you wouldn't even dream of wearing sleeveless if your arms are not waxed, and where you would ask the pool boy to put your chair behind the bushes at the Bombay Gym, so that you can sunbathe in a bikini. Where you would rather pinch yourself before displaying affection publicly to your husband, forget about asking him to feed the baby while you are having a chocolate crepe with your friends'.
Then the conversation went about where to find organic beef, frozen blueberries and some complicated cheese. And about going back to Paris followed by tearful reunions with stilettos and clean streets.
I almost felt dizzy trying to juggle the conflicting feelings in my head. It was like I was hearing someone from the past, who was yet in my present and part of my present, yet my present could not be more different. Did you get it? Neither did I! Let's just say it was a funny reverse cultural shock.

Yoga-ing my way to happiness

Well after I wrote about alcohol intoxication, let me elaborate a bit on what puts me down to earth. I have been doing yoga for about two years now. A lot has been written on yoga and the amazing way it makes you feel. I have no choice but add my bit to it, as yoga has really awakened in me feelings, qualities and thoughts that I have never imagined were possible.

I started yoga with a friend. I felt so terribly clumsy and bored, that from the moment the session started, I was already thinking of the moment it would end and I will go home. It was a disaster. I never thought it would last two years, and I never thought I would be able to sustain it. I still don't do it by myself, like I am supposed to, but I enjoy every minute with Rama Ji, my teacher.

She slowly and gently broke my body's resistance, and taught me how by simply breathing I can clear my head, bend a bit more, get a kick of oxygen in my brain to last me the hole day. During yoga sessions, I have had memories of early childhood, brilliant ideas, and many, many good thoughts. It has changed my attitude towards certain things - mainly taught me to let go. And it makes my face glow to an extent that Gurtaj claims that after every yoga session I look like a different person.

How can a series of movements combined with breathing can achieve all that, I have no idea. I sometimes try to imagine the ancient sages sitting under their trees and getting ideas of postures and stretches. It's a mystery how they created this science. But one thing I know for sure - nothing in yoga feels unnatural. And as you progress, the movements become an extension of your body.

I love the way my teacher makes me stop during a pose and observe what is happening within my body and mind. This is when I stop being a machine and actually listen to my deepest self, sense muscles that I didn't know existed, listen to my breathing, learn to "read" my body.

I just want to end up on that note: I recently found out that whatever she charges, Rama Ji gives to charity. She doesn't feel right making a commerce of something she considers her vocation and duty.