I have been a long time fan of Sheila Dixit, ever since I spent an afternoon interviewing her for the Sunday Times. Since then I have met her on many occasions and never failed to be struck by her sensible low-key and urbane approach to politics. But I was slightly disappointed that she should take up cudgels for the IPL staging matches in Delhi.  At the best of times the forces that be cannot protect us, and with crucial elections being held-what chances are there? Lives are more important than cricket. Sheilaji must know that. Why this aberration in what has always been a seasoned politician’s unwavering good sense?

I really don’t know whether Varun Gandhi is fish or fowl. Off the podium he is the slightly effete lisping LSE educated son of a privileged family very much the epitome of the babalog gen.

But put him in front of a crowd and he roars like the worst kind of fundamentalist demagogue who can leave Modi in the shade. For the son of a Parsi and a Sikh he sure makes a strange covert to Hindutva.

And where is Maneka in all of this? Will she spring to her son’s defense like the tigress that Khushwant Singh once described her?

Or will she distance herself from her son’s alleged hate speech and in fact do a Nargis in Mother India?

Mother Courage can come in different hues.

March, 2009. 8 pm

Watching Headlines Today just now I couldn’t help cringing. The sight of those two hapless Slumdog kids Azharuddin and Rubeena being shepherded by a couple of   media savvy    designer aunties, out for mileage and photo ops smacks of the worst kind of self serving cynicism. Those two starry eyed kids are going to be prey to any and every media hound out for a quick story or pix. Witnessing the way the aunties preened and basked in their glory I couldn’t help but think that for these kids there’s no hope now- a debut on the ramp at Delhi fashion week, a photo op with Congress president Sonia Gandhi and then it’s the slippery slope to nowhere.

How long before they become Page three fixtures, take part in a reality show, become judges on Nach Baliye, or make guest appearances in the next Madhur Bhandarkar film playing themselves? And what happens once the novelty wears off and people are bored of their cute faces and quotes?

What is it we can offer them then? Is someone making sure they get at least their money’s worth of free publicity they afford whoever milks them for their moment of fame?  And will the Congress make sure that they are given a decent roof over their heads and their parents’ jobs?

I can’t help but admire Lovleen Tandon for doing the dignified thing and abstaining from exploiting the kids. After all she if any one at all had the right to do so. But At the Oscars she took a step back and allowed them to shine, and at a public venue where I met her I noticed she winced when the Jai Ho tune started up. In that slight crinkling of her delicate nose was the ‘there’s more to me than Slumdog-and we’ve all got to move on’.

But not too many people have that dignity.  And so we‘re going to be treated to many such spectacles manufactured by canny adults involving the Slumdog kids.

Kudos to my old colleague from Bombay Times Rawinder Bawa for trying to get the kids to distance themselves from exploitative political endorsements. In her coverage on HT she made it a point to ask “The congress is saying that they are responsible for your success and for you reaching where you have “is it true?

It’s mostly the women on TV who are asking the right questions!

Blog Two

So my sister came and went. And I feel so much better. Even though nothing outwardly has changed in my life. (I still have piles of clothes lying on every available surface of my home to sort and clean: in a fit of enthusiasm I had chosen to empty my cupboards in a bid to tidy them two weeks ago! I still am crippled by my inadequacies in cooking, cleaning ironing, keeping accounts….

 But you know what-after her visit-I can laugh at it all now:

So what if I’m hopeless at folding clothes, keeping a good home, knowing the meaning of life or any of the things that we women are supposed to –I’m ME. Maddeningly competent in some ways. Excruciatingly backward in others. And I’ve managed with this package of pluses and minuses pretty well so far.

I guess that’s what we women need every now and then. A cup of tea with a friend/ sister/ mentor. Someone who can tell us that IT’S OK. That we don’t have to beat ourselves up for not being as perfect as we want the world to think we are. OK to be not bouncing around and motivated each and every day of our lives. OK not to want to save the world every day.

As long as we can save ourselves. From our inner demons and doubts. From the world out there which is so eager to sell us images of ourselves. From the impossible goals we set ourselves.

I’m going to be fifty one in two days. And I don’t think I’ve loved myself more ever. Or accepted myself in such a profound way.

Getting older does that to you. It’s been the best thing that’s happened to me. I meet so many young women beset with the problems I used to grapple with when I was their age. Problems real and imagined.

And even when I’m giving them strength and a shoulder to lean on- I know that whatever I do or say- time is going to sort them out. So that by the time they reach my age they’re going to be even stronger and more accepting of themselves than I am.

Even of the self who wants to brood and wallow like I was today.

 Before my sister came over. And I realized that passing clouds only add to the beauty of the sky.

Hope you too have a friend or a sister or a mentor to share the cloudy days with!

Cheers!

PS: My ex ma in law has just called to say that my mom dropped a plate of samosas and dahi wadas off at her place, on her way home from work.  My ex ma in law is 90, my mom is 83. A thoughtful tea-time snack makes such a difference between friends!

The morning (well afternoon) after International Women’s Day. Do I feel any different? Do you? Empowered? Wise? Unique? Or any of those fancy words that over paid, hyperventilating ad executives strung around the day like baubles?

I say boo to the newspaper supplements. Boo to the seminars and pointy head TV discussions. Boo to the sales gimmicks.

Woman power comes from within. It cannot be invoked by marketing muscle or by sweet smses or cute emails that women send to each other.

It is as intangible and enigmatic as women themselves. Some days I feel very powerful. And some days-like today-I regard the debris of my life, the long lists of to-do tasks, the aspirations and dreams still to address, with such a cosmic weariness that I might as well just roll over and go back to sleep.

That’s when I reach out. “Come over ASAP.” I smsed my sister this morning. “I want to be with some one wise and caring. We won’t do anything great perhaps. Just sit around talking about curtains and kids. But the connection will see me through the day. Until I become my strong, invincible self again to take on the world.”

I guess that’s what this site hopes to do for you too. Be there to share the highs and the lows. The triumphs and the bone-crushing days of blah and private confusion. To dip into when you want to know that someone’s out there who’s been there too.

And I guess I shouldn’t be too cynical about women’s day. After all, by sheer coincidence I received a call from Rama Bans, who must be one of the strongest most positive 80 plus year old I know. Rama who has lived life on her own terms. Was a pioneer in the health and fitness world of India long before the Jane Fondas and Leena Mogres. Rama, who broke out, lived unconventionally, followed her heart and dared to be different. She called me yesterday to say hello and that she hadn’t been well.

“Is your fitness school still running?” I asked Rama. “Yes.” she said her voice strong and firm.

I suppose it’s no coincidence that she called on International Women’s Day.

I guess there are no coincidence’s in life at all.

Because more than all the hype that women’s day generated that call from Rama was a validation that women can be strong, unique, powerful and invincible. I hang on to it like a touchstone to see me through today.

Now my sister’s coming over and we’ll bask in each others strength and warmth over a cup of tea. Wish you could come too.

Cheers!