My tribute to the women in India!

 

My tribute to the women in India!

During my recent trip to India, I had realized I was soaking in way more than I was looking for. Over and again, I was struck by the amazing resilience of the Indian woman. As I silently looked around, it was quite an awakening for me to realize that an average working woman in India tolerates the sweltering heat like a boss.(not every family can afford air conditioning) She does not wear makeup, nor does she rely on a car. She dabs on some talcum powder on her face,a bindi on her forehead, flowers on her hair to start her day. Some have a two wheeler. The rest use public transportation - a bus with open windows. She still wears her traditional clothing - a six yard sari! Even on the hottest day of the year, her life seemed to go on in a normal cadence. She goes on without complaining, without rolling her eyes but with a smile on her face. What she seems to exude is a silent fortitude despite how tedious or physically hard her job is.

         Of the women that captured my attention, there was a woman who cared for her disabled husband, a woman, estranged, because her husband was hiding from the authorities in another town, a widow tasked with caring for her grandchildren, there was another taking care of her widowed mother in law along with her own family. 

         After a full day of labor intensive work outside of the house, I could tell that any working woman would go home to a hungry family and would have to start making dinner right off the bat, tend to washing clothes, washing dishes and help the children with homework.

There is going to be no kicking off your shoes and resting your feet but I do have a feeling that there is going to be a TV show to watch at the end of the day. Maybe a new sari she can buy at the end of the month.  Maybe a gold earring that she has her eyes on. That she could afford in a couple of years. She presses on looking forward to tiny little joys scattered somewhere in the future.  

And yet there is a smile that lingers and she extends her warmth and hospitality to anyone that graces her doorstep.

Just to bring forth the irony, I have to mention that men have it slightly better. Almost all of them have a motorcycle or a car to get around and more often than not are able to work in an air-conditioned building. The burden of household chores, however, falls squarely on the woman. 

Am I biased? Maybe, just a little. 

Kudos to you if you fall even remotely in this category, my friend. A thousand kudos. Even if you are in a different country, different circumstances, even if you do own a car or wear makeup.

May your days treat you better and your nights lull you in deep restful slumber as you await another day!

           A random book from the library that shook me a bit

Is this how it feels?

In the last few months my heart has been on a rollercoaster. Not physically, just emotionally. My son goes off to college in a few days. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to write like those bloggers who write so beautifully and fluently about the philosophy of bidding farewell to teenagers. Mine is just going to be my take on the bicultural balance of raising my son in an Indian household in the American soil with our parenting skills learnt from both cultures and letting him take on the American world by himself. 

        It's not like this was a surprise. This is like waiting to deliver a child. It's not just waiting nine months, we have waited for almost 18 years. We knew this was coming and yet when I realize how soon this is coming at me, my heart tightens.

       When I consider all the friends he's going to have, the strides he will make in his life, the degree that he will earn at the end of the next few years, the job that he will land, my heart swells.

       When I see my younger child gaze at her lifelong companion in wonderment and bewilderment as he prepares to leave her behind for college, then my heart races. In his absence, will she blossom? will she wilt?

       When I see that his clothes are packed, his toiletries being readied, to do lists scattered here and there, then my heart sinks.

       When I see him pray in earnest, recite Bible verses,when he takes so much pride in his summer jobs, when I see him beam with confidence and apprehension all in the same moment, then my heart rate rises and falls.

       When I ponder how he will be treated in his life, will it be for who he is? for the beauty of his heart and his personhood? or would it be based on his skin color? and be treated different from others? then my heart stops.

       I cannot begin to imagine what his mind is going through. After all at the end of the day, this is more about him than me nursing my arrhythmic heart back to rhythm. 

      When I begin to panic,I turn to my solace and read these verses. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight". Proverbs 3:5-6 

   "Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord." Psalm 31:24

At this, my heart calms down. He’s got this and he’s got this. 
Be still,my heart.

Spoken English

It suddenly occurred to me that I have been doing it all wrong all along. For years, I used to catch myself when I spoke English wrong or mispronounced  an English word. I even sought to learn the correct American pronunciation lest someone would correct it for me and then I’d feel all embarrassed.

I was very proud of myself when I finally began to speak English confidently. My grammar was decent, my spelling was topnotch and I spoke English the American way(most of the time)-with the right emphasis in the right letter and rolling my t’s as d’s and sharpening up on my the puns and idioms. 

One day it occurred to me that my feat in English language is nothing short of an epic achievement-despite its flaws and shortcomings and awful pronunciations. English to me and million of other immigrants is indeed a second language. We speak our mother tongue and we know its alphabet, its grammar and its literature and we speak it so fluently and easily. It was out of our own will, that we chose to start learning to speak English as adults when we moved to a country that required us to speak English. Schools in our country taught us to read and write in English, but we chose to learn to speak it because we needed it as immigrants along with our passports and visas.

When we first started to speak with English speakers, we stumbled and we fell and finally got up just enough to hold a conversation in English. And when we did speak with fear and hesitation, there were times when we heard ourselves search for that english word so desperately in our brains to have  that word pop up a day late or never at all. We struggled with past and present tense, the correct gender, using the articles at the right place, prepositions and many a times we just wanted to give up. On top of mustering the courage to learn this new language, we were also expected to be familiar with the American slang and cuss words, the innuendos and racial slurs. Last but not least, we were expected to speak with an American accent! If we didn’t, we were corrected or worse, laughed at.

You see, when a foreign national comes to my country, we do not expect them to speak in our native tongue overnight or ever. We show them grace or at the most, waive off their attempts and move on. 

English might be the most spoken language of the world, but when you compete against China and India, the most and 2^ndmost populated countries, with their own dialects and innumerable different languages………well, you do the math. I almost want to say our attempts at speaking English is more of doing a favor to make lives easier for those that cannot speak our language.

So, I would like to express, it is OK to speak wrong or broken English, it is OK to make mistakes but it is NOT OK for immigrants to be embarrassed about it and it is NOT OK for English speakers to expect all of us with our own native tongue to speak in impeccable English.

We totally get monolingualism and its limitations and we hope you get bilingualism and its limitations, as well. 

My life in the bleachers

Today being Mother's Day I can only think of how life has evolved from the day the kids came into my life. I remember when I was single and all I had to think of was myself. Then when I got married,as newlyweds-my husband and I were each other's entire world and then when the babies came along inadvertently our lives started evolving around the kids. Everything we planned we planned around the kids -their schedule, their lives, even around their waking and sleeping hours.  And within a few short years our lives are now punctuated with the weekends and evenings of driving the kids back and forth to practices and games and how we have allowed those numerous practices and  games to consume our lives.

But then on the other hand when you come from a cultural background where Sports is a distraction and the emphasis is on education then yes, it is always a struggle to find a balance-that fine balance. In some strange way you do find a balance and hope and pray while you sit in the bleachers that you have drawn the line at the right spot.

I can't forget the moments rushing  home to get an ice pack on a child’s bruised knee or waiting for the swelling to go down or waiting to see if that bone was indeed broken. As I put on my many chores and obligations on hold and sit in the bleachers my mind is preoccupied with dinner. On any given day dinner is one of the following-rushed dinner, delayed dinner,slow cooked dinner or drive thru dinner. Hours spent driving the kids back and forth translate into the many stops at gas stations to fill up gas and the many visits to portopotties to empty bladders. My life in the bleachers is not just watching my kids play sports but it has been a life of watching my kids be part of orchestra concerts, choir concerts, spelling bee contests, award ceremonies, sports banquets and not to mention school plays and field days.

I do confess I have done some of these begrudgingly and some with more of a cheerleader attitude on other days. I do have to take into account that as years go by I have come to embrace my life in the bleachers. I am very aware that this is where I pray the most for my kids’ successes and safety. I have gladly let go of ‘my time’ and start focusing on pouring into my kids and their needs. Like I heard on the radio few days ago- being a mother is not a job it is a privilege. It indeed is a privilege to watch your children shoot for their dreams-to watch them fight and strive for excellence. A privilege to watch them try their hardest in doing what they love- to win some and lose some- and ultimately find their niche. Life in the bleachers has a great view filled with great memories and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

        

Using the Indian woman card!

A few months ago, a US Presidential candidate was called out for using the woman card! Remember that? I pondered over why there was such a furor and wondered what kind of a card I use? I am a woman. Do I use the woman card??? Then it came to me, I have been using the ‘Indian woman’ card. That is the standard I stick to. The adjective for the term would change on a daily basis. It will range from the paranoid Indian woman to the angry Indian woman and everything you can think of in between. When you can’t escape it, embrace it and USE it.

            Boy! Have I done that. Ask my kids. This is a typical day in the life of my 2 kids. “What? A cellphone in 6^th grade? I was 28 when I got my first cellphone in India”, “do you know what happens in India if you talk back to your parents? When I was in India……, “You are lucky you are not in an Indian school right now”…. So there you have it, a bit of a blackmail and a bit of a putting life in perspective. Or when it comes to explaining that taking an exam in India is writing pages and pages of answers in 3 hours and not filling bubbles in a scantron.

            Ask my husband when I reminisce those nostalgic moments of “when we were in India, or if we were in India, or when we have this desire to eat a vadai and  drink cup of piping hot tea from a pettikadai around the corner or the craving for a dosai for dinner or would just like to drop in on our parents or attend a wedding just to eat biriyani……

             There are times when I am doing what I do best, talking about India with my friends when I whip out this card and go to town until I begin to see very obvious signs of boredom from the person I am engaged in conversation. There was once a yawn! And yes, I did call the person out on it and I totally threw the blame on my origin.  Here is a sample…..“Personal space? What is that?” or “Parking lots, green lawns, side walks, date night for parents? We don’t have that” or “Women empowerment in India is not the same as feminism here”- It is just the basic survival technique there and not a fight for equal rights here. Women wearing jeans and driving a car is still a sign of super modern advancement in India and yet a given here. I can use my card to explain my difference from the rest of my American friends and can conveniently use it to buffer my ignorance as well. I have gotten good at it in the few years I have lived here.  

            Or even when I am by myself, when I compare and contrast the 2 different cultures I live with, I wonder about my place in a country where I am an immigrant. I will always look Indian in the eyes of my onlookers. So I will just use my Indian woman card and flaunt it every which way. It is used proudly and never as an excuse. It is used to prove my worth as a woman who has transcended/transcending the cultural differences and yet holds her head high in moments of utter embarrassment. “It is a learning curve” is such an American term that totally fit my agenda for the past 14 years here. Still learning to maneuver the curve. Keep driving but drive slowly in the curve.

           

Reading books saved my day!

            I was a reader when I was young. I read constantly. I do not recall my town having a library but my mother would borrow books from school libraries over the summer and I would spend hours reading them. As I grew up I read John Grisham, Michael Crichton and Robin Cook. There was something about the foreign land and their technology, Science and their courtrooms  that was intriguing and enthralling. The novelty of that 'foreignness' and just the escape to another world that seemed so far away. I even had a lady in a train in India ask me if I was very interested in cooking, as she had seen me read a book written by Robin Cook. I politely lied.  I was a voracious reader but then life happened. Two kids later, I found myself gazing at 'What to expect during the baby's first year' and then 'What to expect during the toddler years' and eventually at Children's books.

            Then one day, two friends of mine, handed me a book at church and one said, "Read it. Two weeks. Tuesday. My house, Book club at 7". I was baffled. It had been so long. I had forgotten what it was to get lost in a book. My world was full. An infant and a toddler. But in 2 weeks, I showed up! I have never stopped since then. I have loved being a part of this group of wise women. Funny and wise. That is important to state. This is my safe haven in many ways.  For once, someone seemed to expect my brain to talk. I wasn't being judged by my appearance or my "Indianness" but was sought after for my knowledge on the book. That by itself was a relief. A safe haven. Did we read a bunch of books- classics, fiction, non-fiction, life strategies........ relating the book to our lives, relating our lives to the book, finding the Jesus character in every book, laughing at some quips, hating some of them. We are free to pipe in your opinions even when we haven't read the book. And we laughed. A lot. 

              As much as I decry being noticed for my 'Indianness', my favorite was when we read books on India. Then I got to explain the Indian terms and lifestyle and culture. As I have mentioned before, I love that. It also dawned upon me how I had longed to read American books when in India but after I moved here I now long to read books on India.  Call it irony. Call it silly. This book group has seen me get overjoyed explaining India and get equally miffed when the book was written by an author of Indian ethnicity who was born in England.... grew up in the United States and yet won a Pulitzer Prize for writing a book on India. Sure, if that author has 3 MAs and a PhD, the writing is going to be darned good. As I grapple to figure if I hate or love this particular author, I devour her books, one after another hating that she would dare to write about India and yet loving her style of writing with such profound understanding of India, its people and its culture. Sure, she weaves in the Indian immigrants' lives in the US and the impact 'immigrating' has had on their lives and their decisions, yet, I am infuriated that she does it so well.  I wonder if this was why Mindy Kaling chose this author's last name as her own last name in her TV show, "The Mindy project". (Oh! Mindy, if I were to write about you that is another post by itself.)

                 To satiate this hunger for Indian books, I  started reading books by Indian authors only to find that some, like the one mentioned above have never really lived in India. Some have, for a few years, some have visited over Summer and some went just to research to write a book on India. Well, at the end of the day, they haven't broken any rules but just messed with my expectations of having some authenticity to what they write about!  Aside from being annoyed, I have hope that maybe one day, I ,who grew up in India and eventually moved to the US,can put all these posts together and sell it, and maybe it becomes a best seller...... you will buy it, wont' you?